The sadness returned last night. I have three finals in the next 48 hours and I haven’t studied. I’m not feeling like myself. I keep wondering if this is worth it, if I can keep moving forward. But somehow I keep going, even if the steps are tiny.
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune–without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.