Did I have hope? Hope that what we carry, and feel, what we believe, can be meaningful, can be sorted, and put in order? I keep saving pretty things, and all of my feelings, hopes, ideas, dreams, for later, thinking that I will have time to complete projects, finish untangling threads of thought and emotions, express it all, and that it will give me peace of mind, comfort, understanding. Instead I have things and feelings in boxes, everywhere, stashed, dusty, unseen. And I find it harder and harder to open up, to speak, or share, to even hope that any of it is worth sharing. The world feels full of boxes and I do not have the clarity of mind, nor heart, to open any.