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.