Right now, you feel as if it’s desperate powerlessness that’s draped across your back and over your arms, not one of the many afghans Grandma made before she forgot how.
Right now, your heart is heavy with the weight of the reality currently cloaking your country.
Right now, tears creep their way between your eyelids.
I hope they fall.
I hope you can remember that everything — the good, the bad, and everything caught in the grey of in-between — comes to an end. I hope you can stoke that fire inside your stomach and fight for what you know is right. And I hope you take care of yourself, too, because fires can’t rage without oxygen to feed them.
And until you can do all of that, when that desperate powerlessness feels all-encompassing and all you can do is feel and feel nothing, I hope the sky is clear enough to see the stars. I hope The Dog’s pitter-patter of nails on hardwood floors brings you some light. And I hope the life that surrounds you overcomes the death.
Walk gently, and let love guide your steps.
Everything will be okay.
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