Someone asks me, “Do you pray?”
I shake my head,
not out of pride,
but out of truth.
“I don’t pray,”  I say, “I hope.”
Hope is the only thing I’ve ever trusted
to show up
when nothing else does.

The love of my life asks me, “Happy or sad?”
Her voice soft, like she already knows the answer.
“Sad,” I say,
not to push her away,
but because pretending
is heavier than honesty ever could be.

It’s strange, how close I came
to
having
every
fucking
thing
I ever wanted.
Close enough to taste the future
like a promise on my tongue
close enough that losing it
still echoes in my chest.

There was a time I used to laugh.
Loud.
Real.
The kind of laugh that fills rooms
and makes people turn
just to feel a little warmer because of it.

Now I don’t pray.
I hope.
I wait.
I hold the pieces quietly,
because somewhere inside me
I still believe
that laughter isn’t gone
just resting.

And maybe one day,
I’ll hear it again
and recognize myself in the sound.