Remember the first time
robins sang in your garden,
their delicate bodies pulsing with song,
their hearts daring to rise, like yours.
How the moon spilled its silver over your window,
and your mother said, pointing at the moon,
“It will take care of you.
It will follow you where you go.”
You wondered how.
But somehow it was true.
The moon followed.
It always did.
Your eyes became big with wonder
when you saw the rainbow,
colors curving on the wet sky.
And you believed the sky was smiling.
The first bite of cake your mother baked,
warm in your hands,
falling apart in your mouth.
Her soft fingers,
the way they carried you ahead,
before you knew where you were going.
When your friend broke their pop tart,
and gave you the bigger piece,
like they were sharing a secret part
of their world with you.
Those firsts.
They were sparks.
A new possibility, an invitation,
A flare of light that could not be blown out.
That’s where you first learned hope—
in the ledge of your curiosity,
in the light of your gaze,
in the breath you didn’t know
would be holding you through storms.
Hope was not what you waited for.
Nor something you could earn or chase.
It just showed up on its own,
from being present to what arose,
from leaning into the miracle of small firsts.
You were afraid too
when it seemed like everything was too much,
and it felt terrifying, dark, lonely.
But you stayed,
you kept breathing through it,
you trusted that the world still had surprises.
This illness now, it’s not your fault.
The world calls it rare.
For you, it is not.
It is everyday, it is relentless.
But still there is life here.
The same hope that leapt at robin’s song,
that caressed you in moonlight,
that made rainbows and cakes.
That flicker is here still, in your heart.
I promise you that.
So even when your limbs don’t fold
and your words come slow, thick as molasses
or swallowing tightens—
Remember that you are here… breathing.
And life is moving through you.
So long as that is true,
you are capable of firsts.
And hope will be around,
following you quietly but insistently,
like a sunbeam peeking from a storm cloud,
like the moon that still accompanies you
with every step you take.
By Bhavna
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