Days passed, weeks of hope and prayer and belief.

The girl had been here before, a faint memoir

Of previous disaster.

She did not yearn to fall into that abyss once again

Yet she could not possibly yield her heart from hoping.

Hope was the strongest weapon she had ever held,

But it was also the grandest pain she had ever bore.

Hope could lift a stranded civilian off their desert island

And into the arms of established society,

Yet hope could also act as a vat of sulfuric acid,

Being poured amongst your flesh in blinding agony.

This was the reason the girl was haste in her hoping,

For she was not certain of what it would bring.