The statement following is true. The statement prior is false.

I'd like to share a poem about "hanging on" that I read today by contemporary poet Galway Kinnell. (I highlighted my favorite stanzas in green).

Wait

Wait, for now.

Distrust everything if you have to.

But trust the hours. Haven’t they carried you everywhere, up to now?

Personal events will become interesting again.

Hair will become interesting.

Pain will become interesting.

Buds that open out of season will become interesting.

Second-hand gloves will become lovely again;

their memories are what give them the need for other hands.

And the desolation of lovers is the same:

that enormous emptiness carved out of such tiny beings as we are asks to be filled;

the need for the new love is faithfulness to the old.

Wait.

Don’t go too early.

You’re tired.

But everyone’s tired.

But no one is tired enough.

Only wait a little and listen:

music of hair,

music of pain,

music of looms weaving all our loves again.

Be there to hear it,

it will be the only time,

most of all to hear the flute of your whole existence,

rehearsed by the sorrows,

play itself into total exhaustion.

What an inspirational poem about strength.
I've read this poem several times today, and each time I find it more profound than the last.
Hope you liked it as much as I did.