I walked into a room last night.
Just over 5 months ago I’d walked into a couple other ones.
Not for the first time, but it might as well have been.
First times/not first but first with desperation.
And I listened.
Because I had no choice. I was at the end, with no hope. No alternative.
Last night I walked into a room.
And I’m not at the end, but at the beginning, and the beginning of an end, and also a middle.
With alternatives, and a future, that is still shrouded and clouded and misty mysterious.
And I am still me, with my limitation.
Poor limited me. With imperfections and spectacular failures and wondrous potentials.
Both rooms have hope. Both rooms have humanity. Both rooms have stories.
And I just listen. And then share and tell my story
When my time comes.