There's a (not so) funny thing about hope. When you allow yourself to hope, it hurts harder when you slip
It's like a dropping drinking glass. You don't hope, so it's like you dropped the glass from your place on the floor.
The glass only bounces.
But when you hope, it's like you're ten feet off the ground (literally). When you drop the glass, you see,
Have you ever tried to pick up hundreds of (tiny) shards of glass? You get cut. You lose some. They are so very hard to pick up.
Now, imagine that drinking glass is your heart.
(Mine, every time I hope beyond hopes that you could love me.)
Hope lightens a person's spirits. Hoping allows a person to be happy, confidant, and then the person
Just like a star.
But hope doesn't last. No, it always seems to end, and when it does, that person is in an even deeper, darker place than they began in.
For dramatics, let's call it a
Chasm of despair.
How cheerful. But do you know, that despite all of this, all of the hurt, people still hope? We are so afraid of pain, but we hold onto hope like a life preserver. (weighted down with rocks.)
We hope for peace on earth. We hope for things to get better. We hope for that poor man on the street. We hope for the victims of war. We hope for our families.
Because, despite it all, sometimes hope pulls through.
So I'll hope for your heart, and you hope that the poor little girl get's a doll for Christmas. While
we're at it, let's hope against all hope that we get peace on earth. We'll do that, and maybe it'll work.
And let's hope beyond all hopes that hope pulls thorugh.