Hope is a weird paradox. It’s something we’re told we can’t possibly survive without, yet it’s one of the things that can also kill you if you’re not careful.
I tend to be a cynic and therefore more often view it in the latter light.
Yet it’s something I’ll always go back to—sometimes stupidly so—even though I know just how hard it will kick me to the ground once I realize that that one certain glimmer of hope I’d been holding onto was just too much to believe in.
I don’t know, though. Some days, I’d like to think something good just might happen when I least expect it. Maybe I’ll consider it a good day, for reasons other than that I didn’t think about how I’m getting older every minute. Maybe I’ll get that sincere apology I never got. Maybe I’ll receive “anonymous” flowers. Maybe today I won’t need an umbrella. Maybe today I’ll wake up, happy to see the sun shine through my window. Maybe today will be the day I feel more than just “fine.”
But I know that day isn’t today. To be quite honest, I’m not sure if hope is more often my savior, or slow-killing poison disguised as a sweet medicine.
Some people think holding onto this hope is child’s play. In reality, I’d say it’s one of the hardest things not to let go of.
I find it though, in the strangest places, where I was never looking for it. Sometimes it’s a song I used to love and had forgotten about, other times it’s the preview to an upcoming movie and today it was a simple “thank you” from a middle-aged couple I held the door open for. I wouldn’t exactly say I felt happy when I experienced those things, but maybe the thought of how they might’ve changed someone’s day just slightly for the better makes me want to believe that perhaps tomorrow, someone will do that for me.
Tomorrow’s another day. Another chance for the sun to illuminate through the clouds.