This Isn't What I Thought It Would Be

Disappointment is a heavy gift. It clouds vision and closes eyes, peer pressuring us to exchange abundant life for perpetual sadness. It sits on our lungs and with each of our breaths whispers, "I am sad, so you are sad too." Like toxin, it invades; the tiniest amount enough to silence.

How do you evict disappointment without changing the past - an impossible feat - or changing past desires - a convincing that feels more like lying than healing. The process of eviction lengthens when promises make their homes inside our souls, casting visions to match our passionate desires. Yet enough time passes to expose nature's curse: a promise left unfed withers away into disappointment protected by a home that promise once built.

I could go on and bring you to remember every one of your lost dreams, unburying them just to experience the mourning of burying them again. But if I pull you into death it is to find something we missed the first time. For somewhere, hiding in the ashes, there is hope - a single gold coin shining though there is no light. I know it's there. I just haven't found it yet.