A breath, a sigh, a sound of relief.

An answer to my message, floating back to me in the same bottle it was sent.

I couldn't sleep last night, in and out of dreams floating like an ethereal being, a ghost, a shadow pressing tight against the wall.

I tossed and turned.

But this morning, maybe is an answer, as no response would have been a no. Am I safe to think a little spark of hope has been ignited? Am I reading too much in words I've read?

So I'm slowing down, taking a moment to draw one deep breath into my lungs, slowing yes, but stopping no.

Like Robert Frost, I have come to these yellow woods ...

Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both.
And be one traveler, long I stood,
And looked down one as far as I could,
To where it bent in the undergrowth.

Then took the other as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim.
Because it was grassy and wanted wear,
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same.

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet, knowing how way leads onto way,
I doubted if I should ever come back

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence,
Two roads diverged in a wood
And I, I took the one less traveled by
And that has made all the difference.