A Love Letter For Hopeful Hearts

Dear one. 

This is not an easy world in which to live as the owner of a hopeful heart. 

Not an easy time to build a home safe enough to hold the immensity of your own tenderness. 

The last few years were not so much built for believing.

And yes, I know, holding that much hope in one human body is not a job for the weak. 

It can sometimes seem like everything would be easier if you just laid it all down for good.

But please, love, promise me a few things. 

Promise me you will continue to show up relentlessly or the undoing of your own disbelief. 

Promise me you’ll play those love songs until the tears of you turn into oceans of saltwater born only to hold you buoyant.

Promise me you’ll never let them convince you that your hope is anything but proof that it’s worth going on. 

My god, it is worth going on. 

You were not made for a suspension of hope.

You were born with a lifetime of repair supplies and enough care to heal the whole fucking world. 

No matter how many goodbyes have rooted themselves into daisy chains holding your bones so tightly you fear you’ll never unravel, you are not made of the ingredients for a lasting recipe of cynicism and distrust,

You are here for chasing the light straight into the fiery red ball of the setting desert sun. 

For flying headfirst into the chasm of your own tender want. 

For etching a million and one daydreams into the ground under your kneecaps when 3am finds you praying to stop praying alone. 

You wild love story

You eternal bliss seeker.

You snakeskin shedder. 

You brilliant spell caster.

You fairy godmother of presence and intention. 

You dancer of a thousand love songs. 

You holy believer in the sanctity of our fumbling humanity.

You with your demolition hands tearing down the walls that keep the revolutionaries outside the gates, so that you can be the one to welcome everyone inside.

You with your architect heart erecting monuments of belonging. 

You with your delicate fierceness holding the roof above all our heads. 

Nurture the embers of your tender fire.

Protect the goodness in you that refuses to die. 

Write your love spells in gold dust and prisms of light. 

Become the most fierce caretaker of your brilliant body of want. 

Gather the lost ones in your wide-open arms and sing them a lullaby of homecoming. 

Hold steady, dear one. 

Keep your feet planted on the ground of what is right now. 

Keep your eyes on the horizon of what may come. 

Keep your hopeful heart fueled with goodness. 

Keep your hopeful heart fueled.

Keep your hope. 

Keep your hope.

Keep your hope. 

Please, for the love of all that is possible in this world, keep your hope.


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I swear like a sailor, I've been called a word-witch (more than once), I believe whole-heartedly in the power of your voice,  and think words are as necessary as air. I work with humans who are seeking permission to stop seeking permission and offer programs that will get living and writing on your own terms (for reals). 

You know you want this.