Is it wrong to have hope?

Maybe, yes, obviously.

Hope is natural.

Everyone says so.

It consumes us, blinds us, deceives us,

And most importantly, it tests us.

We are driven into a corner.

Not by our problems, no,

But by the hope that they would be solved.

That they would go away, that things would be better.

It kills us, eats at us and within us.

It’s in our nature to hope, to pray, to even deceive ourselves.

‘One day it would be better,’ we always say.

But it never gets better; it only gets worse.

Our hearts leak. Our pain grows, enlarges, magnifies.

What is hope?

To me, it’s a poison.

To others, my definition might seem dark.

But it is how I see it, how I feel about it.

And I’m sure this is how it sees me too.

Whenever I find myself holding on, believing,

When my faith is at its maximum, it always comes crashing down.

And every time I cry, I get back up.

Is that also hope?

That I can do better, that I can be better.

For myself and for the person I want to become.

The feeling always comes, and with time, it only grew.

That feeling that things would get worse before they get better.

That feeling that I had to take a step back before moving miles forward.

I accepted it, and I called it hope.

I accepted it because even though it hurt my heart,

Even though it killed my chest, it made me sink.

Even though it killed me over and over again,

I was still hopeful, because it was better to believe in something than nothing.

And I never understood why.