Hope isn’t just a virtue. For some, it’s a way to survive.
I sat for two hours looking at them. Dreaming. Hoping. Envisioning the three, er four, of us living there. Living there together. At the same time. Imagining the feet walking through the rooms, the dinners around the table. Scouring the floor plans, drinking in the photos.
In one, the morning sun streamed through giant windows into the room–across the wooden floors and up the sunshine-colored walls. It took my breath away. In a moment, I could see myself standing there in the morning, holding my coffee and watching my husband finish his breakfast while the children played in the other room.
I felt peace. I felt hope.
And those virtues get me through.
I must have something to cling to–some happy thought or possibility. And there are some right now. Most known to one person, who is a world away wishing for the same dreams, hoping for the same possibilities. Little things. We speak of them often the last few days, and that makes me feel worlds closer to him. Makes me feel more happy and the days more bearable. Especially right now.
And so, as we move forward, I continue to dream those quiet dreams, foster that intimate hope. I imagine our lives. Together. In the same house. Finally living the same life.