Where does hope go when it vanishes? Does it live in a place where it attaches itself to other lost hopes? And what does that place look like? Is it a wall? A sea? Is it the bafflement I sometimes see in my husband's eyes?
I work part-time in the financial industry and am a full-time wife and mother. I am grateful for this balance between work and home every day and happy that I can experience the best of both worlds. I have boxes of journals dating back as far as I can remember and while I will never give them up, I think this will be a new and rewarding way to explore my voice.