Sometimes, caught in the solitude of being alone your mind drifts in search of something that makes everything feel good or right. There are no easy finds because it is much like the hopes of a fisherman who pushes his boat out to sea in the hope to land fishes in his net.
Then I realise I do not
have to be so forlorn, as I look for my happy place. It is not a destination
but a reckoning, I count my blessings. The wonderful happening to me, the good
that has come to me, my appreciation of those who remember me, my friends of great
consideration, and the man who in my thoughts always brings a smile to my face,
warming my heart in this quest of love in which we have agreed to walk together.
Indeed, there are
many blessings of the past to count, but the present is a continuous blessing
of life, of hope, of love and of beauty. I can have the expectation that when I
cast my net, I would catch a bountiful harvest of fish. I’m sailing back to the pier happy and
laden with fat fish.
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