On Hope.

And yet, and oddly, and somehow… there’s STILL this part of me that believes in hope.

Hope is such a bloody falsehood. It’s like alcohol; it starts off by giving you this happy little buzz and then as you consume more and more, it makes you sick and it makes you lose sight of your own private reality. And it’s damaging over time. I don’t believe in hope. Hope is what you believe in when you have too much to believe in. Hope is what exists before real life exists. Hope generates anguish and pain, and yet.. hope is ALWAYS always there, waiting meanly, waiting to blind and trick and spiral you into nothing. It just sits, and it waits for the negative effects to take charge.

Hope is a lie, hope is the devil, I hate it. I’m far too pessimisitc for even that tiny shred of hope to exist, and yet it does. It does, and I wish so badly, so truly, that it wouldn’t be that way! I’ve turned to stone in the last two years and stone people do not have hearts, or feel hope, or feel anything. But if you felt nothing, you would mean nothing to no one. Maybe admission of defeat would sting less than resistance.


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