My life right now is a lot like a long walk through a dense fog. The damp, cold air clings to me, like the disappointed hopes and unfortunate realizations that seem to haunt me these days. The hurt I caused clouds around me, making it impossible to see much more beyond the tree tops in the distance.
Those trees, with their sharp edges and clearly undefined details, are the only representation of the hope I have. They act as a lighthouse in the distance, a reminder that the forest is calling for me. The right relationship is calling to me. I know the forest will welcome me when I get there, that it will accept me as I am, or at least I hope.
I know I can’t live in the fog forever. Each day it presses closer in on me. Each night my blood runs a little colder. Each day I push further and further into the dense blanket of grey around me searching for a burst of colour, searching for some beacon in the darkness.