I wrote that. Yup, that was me during my "I'm Grim and I write <really bad> brooding poetry" phase. Dark glasses, black on black attire and fearing to make a connection with anyone lest I be disappointed and hurt again. I was actually pretty distrustful of everyone, which often surprises people today.
"I suppose nice guys are lucky to be in the race in the first place." Another one I wrote. Are you seeing a pattern here? I was a pessimist throughout most of my mid to late 20's and I do not mean sort-of or kind of, I mean hardcore.
It's been awhile since I leafed through old scraps of short stories and prose. A lot of it came from a pretty dark place and writing was my outlet for exorcising emotional demons. As I read it again, one thought came to mind.
What a self absorbed tosser, I was.
Hope doesn't die. Hope is something that lives in each of us, whispering our hearts desire of the little things that we may never tell another soul. We may hope for a better life, for the safety of friends, for riches, for health, for love. We never really stop hoping; through disappointment we sometimes simply stop listening. Hope may weaken and grow hoarse but it's still there, trying desperately to be heard. It lives in the corners of memories of days past and in the most remote possibility of things to come. It's a gentle caress of a lover's hand, a sleepy sunrise, shared laughter, a piece of music.
Life isn't easy and it's not supposed to be. Life can be a cold and incredibly lonely place and the journey is going to grind you to your knees at times, there's no shame in being knocked down. It's what you do when you're feeling lost and disheartened that matters. I choose to embrace hope as a beacon in the night rather than a flame by which to burn.
Maybe that which we desire most may never come to pass but there's always hope.
I'm a steward of hope.
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