You wake in a sweat, the radiators tripping over themselves to be useful, you wish you felt the same. Instead, the heat drags you through a daze in the morning, the outside freeze like a cruel reminder you have no power. They say the crocus is in bloom in the botanical gardens but you cannot feel in your chest what you have not seen with your own eyes, this is the problem with hope, it needs something to hold on to.
But then, so do you.
It occurs to you that perhaps you are not yet out of the woods, that you are hanging on by that final thread before the path turns and the trees clear. Perhaps this doesn't mean redemption didn't come for you, only that you expected it too soon. Expected it with the early morning dawn and hints of green buds in the tree pits.
You were always impatient for a resolution. Just wait a little longer. Hope is the thing with its feet firmly on the ground.
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