| some slight hope for redemption |
| sometimes you wake up in the morning to some throbbing internal ache and everything just seems destined to go wrong. the storm clouds hang menacingly overhead, and you know that when the lightning starts crashing down, all the dried wood in your life will ignite into a perfect firestorm obliterating every hope and dream you ever had. at such times you wonder why you bother, why not just stay in bed why even attempt anything when the world continually pulls everything you accomplish apart? and sometimes the lightning you expect, it doesn't come. the clouds part just enough for the sunshine to break through, and you stand there, bewildered by the fact that you've been spared somehow from what you saw as the inevitable. your back didn't break under the pressure, your spirit didn't collapse under the strain. the gods have been merciful this day, and though you are not sure why, or whether you even deserve it any more, for a few moments you see something like the green radiance of ivy climbing up through the mangled shell of an old mausoleum, like a white dove in the sky after a flood that blots out the earth, like faith you forgot you even knew how to have. these are the moments we live for, more rare and precious than any tangible thing in the world, because for those few fleeting seconds you see that somehow, some way, there is some slight hope for redemption. |
| in the ruins of a farmhouse, ivy coats the walls and floor |
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