hope is sublime.

hope, i think, symbolizes so much of what makes life enchanting. it dares cynics to believe, followers to lead, lovers to love. it counters realism with the infinitely deft touch of renewability. it is in degrees of hope that we often imagine our own happiness, measured along jagged and discontinuous curves of subconscious graphs. hope is, in so many ways, the inextinguishable light that sustains us.

but hope, as we are reminded by one very eloquent gentleman, is not blind optimism. hope is not ignoring the strands of complexity that weave the web, but instead is the compass that guides us through. hope is not echoing hollow words for their own sake, but believing in the conviction those words represent. hope is not a negotiation; it is our soul, laid bare with an instinctive innocence we have learned to distrust.

hope is hearing an inspirational speech that could mean so much to so many, and allowing yourself to be inspired.

and while i think that hope is as much progress' tool as a hammer is a blacksmith's, i can't help but feel its faltering heartbeat. i am tired of being offensive while feeling defensive; it too often feels like i am fighting a phantom battle in an empty arena with a lonely wind. and i'm not sure how long i can dance around the edges of emptiness before falling in.

there are so many things, i think, worth hoping for. but when hopes collide, scars stand in the way. and so i'm still here, wondering if hope will be the salve that begins the healing. i just can't say that i'm sure what it is i'm hoping for anymore.