hope is a strange, strange thing. sometimes you can feel it so strongly within your bones that it is the driving force for your blood to flow. for your cells to breathe and to metabolise. it is the reason you clutch onto anything you find that gives you love. because hope, is love. and love, is hope.
hope will make you do crazy things. it will make you wait for them to come back home. it will make you think they love you. it will make you expect too much from them. it will make you giddy and give your eyes a twinkle and make you feel butterflies. hope will make you believe.
if you're lucky, sometimes, just sometimes, they will come back home and they will love you and they will be everything you ever expected and you will not be disappointed.
but more often than not, this will not happen. and then, hope will be a blade you have sharpened to slit your own skin with. it will be a fluffy blue bird, soaring and gliding and looking picturesque against the powder blue sky, but too high up for your mortal arms to reach.
it will be the leaves falling from a tree in the middle of autumn; beautiful but dead.
hope will be pain.
who knew even hope could hurt?
hope will only never disappoint if you don't let it. hope that you become better, and love yourself, because hope, is love, and love, is hope. believe in yourself. expect from yourself. deliver to yourself. rely only on yourself. you will never give anyone the privilege to hurt you.
