So I found a random notebook of mine in my closet, and in it I found some writing. I thought it was nice, and I guess I wrote it, and it's my blog - I do what I want! SOOO here 'tis:
{not my art}
There is a part of every person that will not comprehend the impossible. The haven of faith, wishful thinking, hope. This place, tranquil and content, lives in the misty half-light of dawn, sunrise. This place, continuously surrounded by less optimistic neighbors -- despair, disbelief, fear -- pushes through these dark fiends, spreading sweet tendrils through each black emotion until light is all that remains, glowing, pulsing, breathing.
Then comes night, and dark descends again. Doubt is persistent, beating and crashing against this place like waves on ragged cliffs. To have hope is to constantly battle for the right of joy, peace, confidence. The right for life and light. Hope is not automatic, not free. It is an effort, but one worth fighting for.
-Past Tara
