Wish Me Luck

I've become accustomed to the slings and arrows of outrageous misfortune. Gale force winds that have blown everything I thought to be a certainty away as if they never existed at all. Each time left with only myself standing, and the the weight of the world so heavy upon my shoulders that to keep my feet, much less take another step, seemed as much a act of faith as it did some foreign variety masochism in which I was unaware. When these times come you typically grasp at any comfort within reach, real or imaginary. Telling yourself there is a reason for this, there is a lesson to be learned here if only you could see from a higher vantage. What ever reason existed or lesson there was to be gleaned during those times I couldn't recite, but without them I am certain I would not be here. And here is a very good place. Each time I allow myself this glimmer of hope I feel myself quickly recoil as an abused dog does when offered a generous hand. It is my hope that once that hand is offered frequently enough and with the same outcome that hope will grow to love, and the prison in which I've dwelt for so long will instead be my castle. I play a dangerous game when I place all that I am, and hope to be, within this vessel and send it to uncertain waters. As with a step of faith, to reach those gold shores one must first cast off without looking back and believe such a place exists and waits for you on the other side. I do, and I am casting off.