Through the Fog

Tag: hope after hardship

  • The Last Thing I Wanted

    The last thing I wanted

    was another lesson.

    Another reason

    to rebuild myself

    from whatever was left

    after the dust settled.

    I was tired.

    Tired of losing people.

    Tired of losing sleep.

    Tired of waking up

    to the same ache

    wearing a different name.

    I wanted certainty.

    Something I could hold

    without wondering

    when it would leave.

    Something that stayed.

    But life

    has never been generous

    with guarantees.

    It gives you moments.

    People.

    Chances.

    Then asks

    what you learned

    when they were gone.

    And maybe

    that’s why I’m still here—

    not because I mastered

    any of it,

    but because every time

    life knocked me down,

    something stubborn in me

    refused to stay there.

    Even when I wanted to.

    Even when the ground

    felt more familiar

    than standing.

    So here I am.

    Not healed.

    Not finished.

    Not transformed

    into some wiser version

    of myself.

    Just still trying.

    Still carrying hope

    with dirty hands.

    Still believing

    there’s something ahead

    worth walking toward.

    And maybe that’s enough.

    Maybe courage

    isn’t feeling strong.

    Maybe it’s taking

    the next step

    when you’re not sure

    you have one left.

  • I’m Lost and Losing

    I’m lost and losing—

    at least that’s what it feels like

    when the nights get long

    and my thoughts start keeping score.

    Counting every mistake.

    Every door that closed.

    Every person

    I couldn’t hold onto.

    The tally grows.

    And some days

    it looks like proof.

    Proof that I’m falling behind,

    that I missed something important,

    that everyone else

    got a map

    I never received.

    But feelings

    are convincing liars.

    They take a hard season

    and call it a hard life.

    They take a setback

    and call it an ending.

    So I sit here

    between what’s true

    and what hurts.

    And the truth is—

    I have lost things.

    People.

    Time.

    Pieces of myself

    I’m still trying to find.

    But losing things

    isn’t the same

    as being lost forever.

    Because even now—

    with doubt in my chest

    and questions in my head—

    I’m still moving.

    Still searching.

    Still showing up

    on days

    I’d rather disappear into sleep.

    Maybe I’m not losing.

    Maybe I’m just

    in the middle of something.

    The part of the story

    that feels like failure

    before it makes sense.

    And maybe being lost

    isn’t proof

    that there’s no way forward.

    Maybe it’s just proof

    that I haven’t found it yet.