Is it an equal trade
a past shattered by darkness and tear-stained pain
for an airy ethereal elusive hope of the future?
What is the tipping point,
that one grain of salt too many on the scale,
where one begins to drop coins
in investment for uncertainty
rather than gathering worn and melancholy memories
around them like a tattered cloak
soft and comfortable
but never warm?
Does it require a healed wholeness to hope
or can it be done with a handful of razor-edged shards
clumsily gathered and haphazardly taped into the shape
of what one once thought
a full and loving heart
*with thanks to Brianna Fraser for the idea of the title line in Outlander Season 4 Episode 11: If Not For Hope.