Where to find hope

Everything is so beautiful.

I lost it somewhere, one time.
Between old faces, and new emerging fates, hope feels destitute some days—most days, matter of fact.
I dream of peaceful days for not only me these days, at one point it was selfish…only I deserved it I thought.
And I guess moving on through it, that’s the funny thing about humility. Everyone is equal in our faults, the shortcomings…I’m scared of the people who don’t know a rock bottom, let alone a failure so devastating it drives you to one.

I haven’t written a more organized thought-line in quite some times now, you could say I fell out of it. Truth is I didn’t really know what to say, for the person who seems to have always had the words—losing them, only for a fleeting moment.
Wasn’t too bad.
And maybe this is my parlay into hope, the hope of finding anew, back to yourself, to the things you love gracefully, the people you cherish with warm smiles and delicate forgiveness. I believe that’s where you find hope.

Hope doesn’t lie in the physical world of truth, I think what we even consider true is so far warped these days, we lack our scopes more than ever to differentiate much…so why not choose the inverse of our reckless times, I know I sure hope a lot, pray even too. For that next, better day.

And that better day could be tomorrow, an hour from now, a new perspective—hope is unimaginable at times, and with all the antithesis in the world.
I feel like that’s the reason to not only believe in your own hope & beliefs, but to double down in your ability to feel it, to get there, whatever it may hold.
There’s something in there you know is special beyond belief, why not chase it?

Fleeting only until it’s in your reach, I’d love for you to grab it…and to never let go of your own agency once it is yours, again.

You are your own creator, the martyr, the plague that brings beauty and so much destruction to that world. I wonder about where I stand on it, half to spread a plague, half to spread a creation only maybe I believe in at times.
Maybe the creation is the plague, maybe it’s what we all need. To get sick with it, sick with the love of our differences, our hopeful ones.
There will never be two equals in hope. We transgress through our differing worlds all the different, and same—we come out different still.
And with our differences, I pray the hope aligns in our own ways we know how, with compassion and thrill, with solitude, and solace.

With once again, a better day ahead.

The world scares me, my own self scares me more with the absence of fate however. I refuse to be apart of a cog that perpetuates notions of the lack of our self, our agency…more so.
We have the power, the voicing, the eternal shift in tides at every finger tip.
I feel like we were made with a promise to use it, a contract we signed in unconscious thought that propels us forward despite our paths being so opaque there’s no sight towards the next step.
I want to live in a world with not blind fate, or hope.

But enough to show there is no such thing as blindness when you are guiding yourself through your own journey of life, not merely traveling on by. While passing moments, and sightseeing sure can be beautiful.

What is more beautiful than the revelation of a self acted fate you know has been aching in your bones since the moment you left the womb.
Return to yourself,
Return to a bask of hope,

A small anecdote of what is to come in you, may just be in your chest—rip, it. Out.
And nourish it back to your own form, anew.
There’s beauty in change,
There’s beauty in mistakes, a change of heart, or mind.
And for that matter,

Everything is so beautiful.

With love,

-Alice

p.s. There is a new domain here for the substack - https://yapperofwords.com
You can find my new personal website at https://atimetowait.com