Holdin' unto Hope

To all those you lost. Lost a mom Lost a job Lost a moment Lost a name someone used to call you in a voice you can't quite hear anymore but still feel — somewhere behind the ribs, in the hollow that applause never fills. Lost a Sunday. The kind with no agenda, coffee going cold on the windowsill, someone humming in the next room. You didn't know it was the last one. You never do. Lost a version of yourself the one who laughed easier, who didn't flinch at loud sounds, who believed, without evidence, that things would work out fine. You miss her. You don't talk about her. Lost a city. Not to disaster — just to life. Packed boxes. A flight. A forwarding address that slowly stopped mattering. The corner store is something else now. The landlord painted over the walls. Even your ghost couldn't find the place. Lost a father to silence not death, just distance, the particular grief of someone still breathing who no longer calls. Lost a friendship to time, to nothing dramatic, just the slow unlinking unreturned texts, a birthday you almost remembered, then a year then five then a stranger who still looks like someone you loved. Lost sleep. Lost faith. Lost the thread of who you were before the world asked too much of you and you gave it anyway. Lost a pregnancy. Lost the name you had already chosen. Lost a future that had already furnished itself in your mind — first steps on hardwood floors, a drawing taped to the fridge. Lost the grief too, eventually. Tucked it somewhere quiet. It still knocks sometimes. Lost a language your grandmother's tongue, the one that tasted like her kitchen. You understand it still, a little. But you cannot speak it back. And she is gone. And with her went the last place it was ever truly home. Lost a dream not abandoned, that would mean you chose just lost. Set it down for a season. When you came back, it was gone. Someone else had built it. Or the world had moved and left no room. Lost a decade to someone who never deserved a year. Lost yourself trying to be found by them. But here listen Loss is not only subtraction. Sometimes you lose a fear. A weight you carried so long you called it personality. Sometimes you lose a lie you told yourself to survive until you didn't need it anymore. Sometimes you lose your way and find something truer in the wandering. Sometimes you lose a life and the grief of it cracks you open just enough for light to enter not to fix you but to show you the shape of what remains. To all those you lost may they know, wherever knowing goes, that they were not forgotten. That their names still surface at odd hours. In grocery stores. In songs. In the particular slant of afternoon light that hits a room and makes it, for a second, feel like before. To all those you lost you carried them this far. That is not nothing. That is, perhaps, everything.

Chain

TEZOS

Network

Tezos

Contract

KT1A2Tc3KSsZi7BqyEH5dZkiE34sZ6GWCqPY

Token ID

19