ONE DAY WILL BE MY LAST MIGRAINE.

I will blink, as the shadows forever flee. I will smile a slow, relieved, smile—and the chains will fall away. I will shed these tattered garments and climb up into the sky, and my very last migraine will be lost to THE FORGETTING.

It will not be missed. Nope. It can stay here. I'm not gonna worry too much about it. It’ll have plenty of company, left behind in this shattered world.

It'll have Doubt and Fear and Worry and Anxiety and Regret to hang with. I'm sure it'll raise a glass to its old friend, Anger, and slap Shame on the back. Chum it up with Sorrow and Loneliness and Guilt.

They can all stay here, though. I'm not stickin’ around.

ONE DAY my prison will be shattered. The stone will roll away, and I will climb up and out and up, through a hole in the tattered sky.

This unmade bed will lie vacant, dark and cold. My mind will be freed, this rattly old skull shall gladly evict its unwanted tenant, and I will dance off into the NEXT, singing.

ONE DAY I will rise up. I will shed these tattered garments and climb up into the sky, and my very last migraine will be lost to THE FORGETTING.

But until that day, I walk the River road.

JASON CHRISTOPHER HACKWITH, 2025

There is a River filled with tears
That courses through these broken years;
Caught up within the reckless love,
It lifts my heart to Jesus.

He bids me see His broken heart;
The wounds for me, His nail scars;
Caught up within the reckless love,
My tears and His co-mingled.

There is a River filled with love:
The tears of my dear Jesus.
— from The River, by Jason Christopher Hackwith

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