Hope is not terribly welcome in my life just now. Every time I have some tiny shred of it, I am disappointed. I think I see some cause...but then...failure to thrive. It withers and dies, turns to dust and blows away, and I am tired of it.
For a little while, anyway, I am not permitting hope to cross the threshold. It can sit outside, lost and forlorn and learn how it feels to be shut out.
I don't have any faith in what people say, today, either. Words, words, lots of words, but they don't mean anything, do they? Just words, flowing forth like a river of shit, words claiming one thing when actions show another, and I'm tired of being let down so words, too, can wait for a little while, keeping hope company wherever unwelcome liars bide their time until I am foolish enough to think they are genuine again.
But also tired of the whole experience. I long for a time when I could believe like a child believes, that people are good, that things work out, that we are not helpless or useless, that words have power and meaning, that promises are kept by everyone and not just the odd few, that the world is not full of poison and monsters and a blankie and a kiss are all that's needed to fend off the shadows.
But I don't believe.
And I wonder if I will again.