If it were possible to leave behind the existence of invisible wounds, would "unstoppable" be the energy flowing onto every unwritten page?
If teardrops only fell during laughter that makes stomachs hurt, would the meaning of blood, sweat and tears touch differently?
If dragons no longer freely roamed the hallways, would the anthems of mundane things sound better?
If moments were permanently crossed out, would every happy occasion from those times also be packed away?
If hopes came true, would they be as valuable without the wearing down from the wilderness lived along the way?
If everything was changed or even just here and there, would the poverty of earned wisdom create doubt in the tomorrows?
For if we are honest, it is far easier to meet less demanding in the mirror than it is to dream of flying high with the complexities of a whole lot of labor pushing against us.
Effortless to know what should have happened after the moments have passed then it is to embrace forgiveness for the spin of not knowing or the repeating of familiar.
Natural to rely on a system that reflects worth only in the best parts than to imagine breaking the limits that deplete us before we have even started.
And yet amidst all that is in the delicate dance of debris and blooming, what we have we have met in living more in the give and take of art.
In the painful distortions of growing pains exposing thoughts and feelings needing open words to unite in.
In wisdom refusing to show up without the flex of mistakes and struggles helping to nourish it.
In speeches of hurt hearts desiring to be heard without the fear of additional losses.
In strength standing on the fringe as a witness to the vulnerability of survival crawling its way through the messes.
In journeys that make knowing hope deeply intimate rather than merely an idea on a page.
In determination that has made it through minimal lighting and every reason not to but did so anyways.
If we are still asking who we would be without what has been, unrestricted unstoppable allows pausing as many times as we need for as long as it takes in learning to love the versions that hope is trying to forget.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
We hum the story that having hope is a glimpse into individuals that are pending within the flash of a better life where being worthy of receiving appreciation can be found.
A brief summary of what could be without consideration for the conditions that both hope and future versions require in making it to finally believing in who we are.
No mention of the weather in being stuck in saving up moments filled with grief and empty smiles that will continue to mark our pages.
No indication of how many of our days, or even years, will turn hope into fairytales that can't hold us together.
No hint on how feeling lost will overwhelmingly deepen for periods of time even though hope seemed like it would cut through that fog like the beam of a lighthouse.
No insight into how to cope with the fear that isn't showing up because of tomorrow's unknown but is rooted in yesterday's survival.
And no exchange on how we are indeed silently doubting the doubt by hoping amongst the identities that speak of not being enough.
See, when we dream, we look forward to the proof found at the end but not the spaces that lead up to it.
So, we await relief, anticipate confidence, expect happiness and are keen on being able to stack moments with tears that know our laughter better than our hurt.
But as we step towards some hope, conditions pile up and our running understanding of doubt doesn't miss a beat in using every single moment to color us with hopelessness.
And that's because we have never been comfortable in spots where we have to find appreciation for ourselves and even with a glimpse of future versions, we still can't.
See, when we doubt, we distrust ourselves but when we hope, we are supposed to be skeptical of the thoughts and feelings that would have us doubting ourselves.
One of these days, we will lighten the conditions along our journeys to hope by being determined to appreciate ourselves within the walls of our homes without our pending selves being seen or perfectly in place.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
Doubt isn't simply a word with the ability to deflate hopes but one that operates by sitting us down to a parade of moments while projecting past feels into the wishes that we are trying to connect to.
Its pointy fingers are compromised of the things that didn't work out and the fear of the unknown that we have come to believe in more than we do in ourselves.
As if it's bonded to us and destined to slowly deplete the enthusiasm before it has even had the chance to soften tomorrow's pages, the spaces where different is still supposed to be available to us.
But what if we were to use that word against itself, to doubt what that embellishing means even though it appears to know what it is doing in presenting items from both our minds and hearts?
Not to excuse those recited moments but to understand that picking up what we thought we saw in having to survive was never synonymous with the absence of strength until we held ourselves in limbo in that place?
That idea might not feel right within the context of dragon voices that seemingly hate on us, but the truth is that it doesn't matter whether we win or lose, only how generosity impacts our gardens that are often caught between debris and weather.
And to be generous with our unsteady selves means to open up the burden of the sinking words that we swear are our story to question if processions of moments really shouldn't be displayed in the neglected sections of our flashes of strength.
We are better than the set status of deflated hope and happiness that requires us to do so
if our decorating includes doubt, we owe it to ourselves to recycle that term to pick for our storms to also be what waters our flowers.
Have the best day possible for you. Love Always, Heavell
We will say that to craft the life that we want, we must let go of the yesterdays and yet we have never been the type to be able to leave behind the energy that has found a home within us.
Not the moments themselves but their punches that force us to our knees in an ever-shifting loneliness that others do not understand.
And their echoes that pile the art of our debris on top of us so that all that we can do is roll around in it.
Leaving us to wonder why the layers flooding our pages are taking us out while also continuing to write them in the very manner that has become so exhausting for us.
Because we were not just in those spots but instead came out enduring their weight and neither time nor wishes has lessened the heaviness that remains today.
What is the use of trying, then, if it's hard to stay away from past weather and the wording of our hopes continues to be soaked by storms?
Here's the thing, walking in shadows didn't happen all at once and expanding our steps into the light won't either, especially as that includes adjusting the right of way of past narratives.
So, sometimes we do have to go back for the parts of us that were left in despair in half-stories along our journeys.
Not for the moments themselves but to show those travelers that a lot has been asked of that they are worthy of being comforted because we are, not because we do.
Not to interact with the dragons but for the sadness that has lost hope in the pause of us becoming who we wish we had in old things.
And to truly view what we have spent so much time not seeing straight because even tiredness has pockets of potential and strength despite not looking good in the mirror.
Where there is a moment, there is a memory with energy that really wants to be at home within us.
Where there is a memory, there is either a hope that it stays or one for it to go away.
Where there is a hope, there is always a light and that luminosity is the comfort that we offer to the selves that are still shut down from the moments of our suffering.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
We can easily speak the narratives as to why we can't be happy in the standing room only of parts of our stories.
There are moments when the pain has been written as a dull ache behind a smile and others where colors replaced suffocating words.
And still other unscripted parts that our grief leaked onto, leaving no doubt of our existence on their lines and in the spaces between them.
Images of suffering that mean discussions are over and that we can only nod our heads in a familiar agreement to the presence of the mixed-in grief of our homes.
And it has been both frightening and comforting bringing along those hard-earned emotions page after page.
Thinking to ourselves that all of those feelings complete us as if there is some rule that says that we have to take beliefs and turn them into thoughts of truth as we write.
As if data can't be challenged or that conversations can't still be had that make it more likely for us to carry the weight in a different manner.
But of course, the state of things has been that happy spots are celebrated, and the undesirable most certainly can't be a part of a better story.
And still those emotions are not our co-authors but instead different levels of feels that we count, reinforcing going forward with hope and also stripping the light from the tomorrows.
But there is more than that to talk about, more that can penetrate to remove the beliefs that no longer serve us and art that points out other things in what can't be let go of.
This is me and once upon a time I held hope while unhappy multiplied and happy felt lonely in what should have been safe for laughter.
Then hope left and in its place unhappy painted itself with the darkness of disbelief, anger and despair while happy quietly moved backwards.
The cause and effect were that my artwork was defined by all sorts of surviving in spaces that I was actually lost in.
And nodding my head in agreement with the pain of what was never going to be changed was all that was possible.
The weight of those days has shifted, not because there isn't any shade, but because joy has put the light back into discussions, allowing for laughter to follow the pauses and the tears.
Hope, love and art exist in celebrated spots, but better stories hold images of those things reminding us of how we always belong with them even as we are enduring.
Have the best day POSSIBLE for you. Love Always, Heavell
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