When I was young
hopes rose unbound
but experience cautioned
like a caring abuela
don’t hold your breath.

A few more years of living,
and many disappointments later,
hope approached more timidly.
Experience shouted back
like a protective sibling
DON’T HOLD YOUR BREATH

Perhaps I am a slow learner.
The hope in me persists
despite all evidence
that it shouldn’t
And the warning is now the whisper of a caring friend:
don’t hold your breath. 

I recognize good advice when I hear it.
I recognize love when I feel it.
I recognize realities and choose to accept or change them.
I now let hope rise and the voice within me says

just breathe.