I still remember the night in Portland when I found out I was homeless. The summer air hung on me. It clung to my clothes as I walked. My breath, shallow, starved my brain. I had faced the fear of the unknown and cowered. I lost hope. This was the consequence. I shrunk from what could have become to follow the sure thing.
It may have been fruitless to hope in the vastness of the unknown, but what else is there unless I held onto hope?
Till my last dying breath, I shall hope. When the summer air stands above me and casts its eyes down again, I shall be looking up and saying, "Hey, I'm here, and I have hope. Do your worst because I no longer fear the pain of loss."
I shall embrace the loss until I win this tireless game.
Or I shall die trying.