Emily Dickinson once said, "Hope is that thing with feathers that perches in the soul and sings the tune without the words and never stops... at all." I think that's a beautiful description of hope, though perhaps not quite accurate. Perhaps it was accurate for her. After all, hope represents something different for each of us, thus, it is only logical to consider the possibility that perhaps hope is represented differently to each of us as well.
Hope is something that I carry with me everywhere that I go. Even in my darkest hours, my hope of better days exists. I have never been utterly and completely hopeless and my heart hurts for the people who are. It must certainly be a terrible thing to experience -- the loss of hope. I wonder, what must go wrong in a person's life for them to abandon all hope for improvement in much the same way as a sailor might abandon a sinking ship. Or to twist the question about, what could bring a person to decide to cling to a sinking ship when there are lifeboats within their reach?
I hope. Even now, I hope. I hope for so many wonderful things that some days I think that I might explode with optimism.
Silly as it may seem, what I hope for the most is to find you... whoever you are and wherever you are. I don't believe that I know you yet, but one day I hope to know you. One day I hope that you'll fill me up with happiness and love and that I will do the same for you. I know that you're out there somewhere and I'm hoping hard that I will find you soon.
