Perhaps our imaginations… are too human-limited.
We plan our lives.
Hopefully following our hearts.
And yet,
Life itself is the best creative writer.
Plot twists.
Wild surprises.
Heavy lifts.
Steep climbs.
Moments of doubt.
Faith collapsing.
And then—
Bright sunrises.
Warm embraces.
Swims in the ocean.
Rose-petal cappuccinos.
Laughter with friends.
The steady hush of starry skies.
The soul’s longing—
it pulls harder.
Like a rip current.
Stronger.
Than the soft waves.
Of mind. And heart.
Do I trust life?
Yes.
I have to.
Even in the dark, shaky fear—
it has never broken me.
I have always gathered strength.
From the quivering.
And the quickening.
Of my human experience.
