Hope is the only thing we ever seem to hold on to, desperately. And sometimes we don’t know or understand what we’re holding on to. Sometimes it really doesn’t make sense, all we can see is painful routes and we don’t know which one is less painful. We’re stuck in our place with nothing but hope, and we have no idea where this hope will take us because we’ve already learned that hope is not all about the best endings. Sometimes hope ironically leads us to the worst experiences. Sometimes hope changes us to people we never thought we’d be.
Behind every decision we make, we hold out that spark of hope, most of the times unintentionally, sometimes we don’t even realize it, but it stays there waiting to be ignited, usually by the wrong people and the wrong situations, to open doors we’ve been trying to keep closed, and to open wounds we’ve been trying so hard to heal.
It’s not easy to be hopeless though, even at the darkest moments of our lives. The hope keeps growing, we feed it from our souls, and when the hope dies, it’s agonizing, leaving only a distorted version of the picture we drew in our heads, and the remains that we’ll try to bring to life again. But somehow the hope grows again and again, and the spark turns into a blazing fire.
It’s an inevitable truth. Hope could be the only thing keeping us alive, connecting us to everything that matters, but hope is also what kills us.
We’re bound to live with it because we can’t live without it. We’re bound to live with hope and heartache as two sides of the same fate. We’re bound to watch the sun set in our world and wait for the day that it will rise again, for us.
And maybe the only way to stay alive when we’re on fire is to keep burning.