Hope

I have a complicated relationship with hope. 

 

If hope is the thing with feathers, I would like to pluck them out one by one, only to end up sewing them back in with a needle from the compass that is my heart and the worn out thread I keep wound around my finger to remind me of you. 

 

I don't like waging bets with myself on the outcome of you and I. One second I have more money in my corner, and the next second bankruptcy sounds like a career goal. I don't know why I keep calling it my corner. I feel like we are fighting for the same cause. 

 

Are we... fighting for the same cause? Because you could cause the causal chain of reactions to unwind at a rather alarming rate if you claim any other cause. And that would put a pause in my plans. In my life. In the mental stability I have been weeding out and breeding now that you're somewhere between here and gone. 

 

I have no intentions to take your words and twist them into a comfortable future. I can't force you to love me any more than you can force me to be okay if you don't. I'm not sure where I stand with hope, but I'm hoping I won't have to for much longer. She drains me. 

 

It's been said that without hope, you can have no faith. I have a lot of things that resemble faith. Hope is only useful when I want something else. I'm trying not to focus on having hope, but I do have an abundance of fear. I think it's my strongest sense. 

 

I am deathly afraid of losing you. 

 

But, over time, I have realized that hope is the reason I keep fighting for something brighter than the next sunrise. I don't get up early enough to ever see that anyway, so I might as well try for something I get to witness. Hope is the thing with feathers because it allows us to keep flying. 

 

So, if I'm ever stuck on an island, I'd want to have hope. 

 

Hope would bring me back to you.