The heart is a passionate storyteller.
It is talkative; but chooses to leave many things unsaid.
It thrives on intuition and is all-knowing.
It dislikes U-turns.
It is a realist who eagerly takes leaps of faith;
a pugilist who telegraphs its punches;
and a pacifist who turns the other cheek.

But the heart is not spineless.
It will take a stand, alone if necessary,

because it understands its own heart.
It will champion compromise

but remains true to itself.

Hope is like the pied piper

pulling delicately on the soft chambers of your heart.
Its rhythms are warm like the touch of a friend.

Hope is a piping hot mocha,

oozing comfort on cold days.
It is the crackling warmth of a gentle fire

that somehow allows a heart to heal and believe again.

Hope is a free-spirited companion,

who lifts your soul and carries you like the wind.
It caresses your heart, teaches you to take deep breaths
and reopen yourself to new experiences.

Who remembers a weary, elderly man,
settling into the twilight of his former self?
Who has spare time for a frail, mature woman perched on a walker,
struggling to keep pace with life's spirited changes?

Who remembers the unemployable father or the retired mother,
when they no longer draw a salary;
when life no longer decorates them with lofty titles?