My head is always spinning, begging to be held, begging to be medicated, so greedy. My eyes are always tired, closing, shaking their fists at me. My big eyes, my right eye stealing ninetyeight percent of the credit. You wrote me a poem but you’ll never give it to me, I am on my way to being a psychologist, a clinician, but it is only during those few hours of the early evening when I pick up my instrument, float into another world and feel a sense of completion, I am finally whole. Seventeen years ago, you gave me the greatest gift. An old Korean woman sat next to me today, eagerly spitting stories of her life at a random young girl she knew nothing about, not caring how she would respond. Twentytwo years ago I was given a second chance. God is great, I am so happy! I am just so happy. Are you happy? I am so happy. I love life. God is great, He has saved me. I have my doubts about this world, about the people that surround me, about myself. I was dying and God reached out and gave me another chance. I am alive and so happy. Is there such a thing as too much hope?
