There's something inside of me that is filled with hope - it cannot be ceased under any circumstance. I have seen tragedy, I have seen death (touched death), I have questioned my sanity, I have doubted my belief, I have fallen apart, I have been broken to pieces, reassembled, then broken again.
I am makeshift.
Yes, I am makeshift. Every day, every moment, I am changing, twisting, turning, building upon what I learn and know, becoming different, becoming new, morphing into myself.
There is an all-encompassing theme to who I am - a being filled with hope. A hope that there is more; there is more than me and my limited human experience. There is a creator of me, a creator of us all; a creator that isn't anything but madly in love with us. For all that we are - our broken pieces, our makeshift lives, our shittiness, our joyousness. We are a sum of love; built by love, broken by love, reassembled by love.
The creator fills the cracks where we've been broken and torn. In the midst of darkness enters the goodness, the fullness, of light. A shining, dazzling, beautiful glint of this feeling identified as hope - a feeling never fully depleted, for it is what gives us the faith to carry on.