Sometimes I think hope is a terrible thing. It opens your heart and your mind to the seductive dream of endless possibility, leaving you wide open to a cruel and unforgiving world. Vulnerable--especially for a person as sensitive and easily affected as me.
Even so, hope is a dreadful yet beautiful thing that I cannot help but cling to. I try to tell myself over and over not to hope, to prepare myself for the worst, to ready myself for the disappointment of the acutest kind, yet somehow the constant drilling, the constant mantra, still fails to fully penetrate my stubbornly romantic mind. Most people mistake my low-reaching attitude for pessimism, but in truth it the only means of protection for someone so fragile and idealistic.
There are things that I want that I know I have no right wanting. There are things I wish I had that I don't deserve. Why am I so proud to think that I could deserve any of these things? I am a fool who thinks only of myself and my owen microcosmic self pities and unrealized fantasies and desires. I am constantly telling myself to be stronger, to look at the possibilities waiting in the not too distant future, to no longer dwell on the disappointments and imperfections of the present. It is easier said than done.
The lacing pain of heartbreak cuts so deeply I feel as if my heart has shattered into bits and pieces, useless fragments of what was once whole and bursting with joy. The most terrible aspect is not the pain, nor is it the empty hole in my chest that threatens to engulf me. It is the knowledge that I saw this coming, that I had prepared myself for disappointment, for sadness, yet in my youthfully romantic naivete I still allowed myself to let my qualms go, to finally allow myself to simply exist in the moment for once. For the first time, I felt the burden lifted from my weary shoulders. I was lighter, happier, affectionate, gliding through life with a small smile permanently etched on my face. It was that buoyancy which propelled me to new heights. I began to dream evermore, imaging a wonderful future that glittered in my mind like some rare and captivating jewel. To be brought from such a high to such a tremendous low feels even more cruel and sudden.
I suppose it comes down to one aspect of life that I have yet to come to terms with. It is imperfect. What is moral and righteous and beautiful will not always overcome reality's barriers. The glimmer of the perfect world lingers, tantalizingly just below the surface, but the unfair and ugly realities keep it at bay. The only thing a person can do to live in such a world is to look past all the convoluted and hazy layers to what is true within themselves.
I know that I am a good person. I have fallen, I have sinned, I have done many things I am not proud of, but even so I know that whatever hurdles and challenges life throws my way, I will emerge stronger, wiser, better. Every rejection, every disappointment, every heartache, every missed opportunity--it all leads me closer to that ever elusive perfection. I will find someone who will love me wholeheartedly, who will see all the good in me that maybe even I cannot see, that will stand by me through thick and thin. It would be foolish of me to waste tears over anything less.
"There are far, far better things ahead than any we leave behind." - C.S. Lewis
