When all else fails,
Find something
anything
to be grateful for.
With one hand
pressed into the pain,
press the other hand
onto your pulse.
Let the miracle
and privilege of being alive
penetrate the heavy, sagging
walls of your heart.
Where there is life,
there is potential.
Even if you feel so,
you are not hollow.
You have been hollowed,
emptied, scraped thin.
I know how you ache.
But you are not hollow.
Even if you feel so.
Deep, deep within,
you find the one
who still believes
in you,
in us,
in love.
You find the one
who fills
instead of empties,
who listens,
instead of demands,
who rests,
instead of whips.
You find the one
who diligently
gathers the sacredness
and beauty of your existence,
lays it patiently on a tray
and places it at your door,
with a gentle knock.
You decide
if you open it.
—deborah quibell
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