By nightfall, I expect the birds and I to be outside. I have been looking for dry, hidden places along any route I walk but still haven’t found a safe enough space to head towards first.
I converted one of my bags into a carrier for my 16 year old Senegal, Qt. I’ll carry Louie in the carrier Qt is in, now.
Today, I’m here by myself cleaning up the aftermath of believing someone wasn’t exactly what they are. I wanted so badly to be loved and to feel safe that I allowed myself to accept living instead with fear and hurt.
There are broken doors and cracked walls left as scars from. Moments of excessive, unexplainable rage. The love I felt would be overshadowed by fear of that rage. I have had more than enough fear in my life. I didn’t understand why this was happening, but I do now.
I am afraid, now, of what will happen to the birds and I out there. I don’t know how I’ll keep us dry or protect us from being harmed by others. This isn’t a great neighborhood.
At least I have work if I can manage to keep my laptop safe and charged.
It’s going to be a tough day to get through. It will be an even tougher night. I will be living rough as they say across the pond.
I can just pray. My faith is all I have left to believe in. And I just can’t let myself become discouraged. It would lead to losing my faith. No faith means no hope.
I need to dig deep and see the hope in all this.