“He kissed me slowly and every single thing in my body–my skin, my collarbone, the hollow backs of my knees, everything inside me filled up with light.” –The Help
I first read that when I was in California, with my family out West, literally healing. Their house was small enough to smell entirely of the one fireplace that was lit every once in a while, and I remember appropriately smelling cinders and remnants of what once was. It was perfect, because everything inside me had turned to ash, too.
But then I read that quote. That beautiful bunch of words.
And something inside of me responded. It was dumb, really; I was dead inside–and the dead don’t respond to any kind of touch at all–but there I was responding, there I was not dead after all and eating those words up fast, the way hunger drives us to do. The way living drives us to do.
And there I was feeling something like hope under all that ash.
I guess all this to say: hope didn’t disappoint.