A Letter to Hope

Dear Hope,

You were a room inside of me that I never dared to walk into willingly. I am surprised every time at how much life has persisted without my attention, on the few occasions I've found myself here. On those occasions, I have had to strong arm my way out, because I know all too often how time passes here. Time doesn't exist in your room. Seconds, minutes, hours, months, and then years and then a decade- I have seen them all pass by without so much as a speck of dust on your glimmering and shimmering. What fueled you? What has fed you and kept you this long? Why? A part of me wants to walk into this room one day and find it dilapidated, in ruins- perhaps then, I won't be so vulnerable here. But a larger part of me knows that this room is the source of all the joys of my life, so while I never walked in willingly, I always knew every now and then that I might find myself right back here. 

I do not know how to lock you up. I am not the kind of person who keeps a house full of empty rooms for no reason. The other room full of fear remains open and I visit it often. While I am in here, I can always hear fear from the other room calling me. These days, the call is loud. I have visited fear enough to be comfortable with it. I have easily walked past it many times over and over, when I choose to. This time is different, I am terrified to leave this room because I am certain I would walk right into fear outside these hopeful doors. 

My dear Hope, you astound me, truly. I love that you exist so much, but I hate you. I wish you weren't in my house. I wish I could easily ignore you as much as I ignore fear. You are a distraction and a huge liability to my security, my peace and my clarity. You could be the catalyst to the greatest pain in my life, you could also be the catalyst to my greatest love. I hate that you do not come with clarity, with guarantees or with instructions really. I never know what to do with myself in this room. I let myself revel in your shimmering while fear and dread knocks at the door. They knock and call so loudly that I have to pretend I don't enjoy the glimmering, your glimmering. 

Many times, I have found myself here with plans, and a well thought out protocol. I was always certain that even if hope was lost, I knew what to do next. Today, I am in this room empty handed and my head filled with delusions of love and grandeur. I do not recognize myself anymore in this room. I do, but I don't. I recognize her in that I knew she existed and that I had been her before, but I don't recognize her in that I hadn't been her in a long long time. Dear Hope, why are you raising the ghosts of my past in my place? Why are you calling out for versions of me I have long laid to rest? 

I leave now and I'm closing the door. I cannot lock it but perhaps I might be able to ignore you for a while still. Let me have this reprieve, for between you and me, we both know that I cannot help myself. We both know that a single stitch in the universe could very well land me back here. We both know that I want it that badly- that I hope for it.

Yours truly, Faith



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