Hope has been the nagging feeling in my gut for far too long.
Hope has been that person I was so close to who moved away and we’ve barely kept in touch since.
Hope held onto the idea that when I moved away finally, everything I left behind would remain intact within me.
I’ve given up on Hope.
Hoping that things would remain the same or that they would change is like holding onto the cliff edge when you know the only way is down.
What lies below doesn’t matter.
It’s a despairing feeling either way—what at first, is unknown to us.
A hopeless feeling.
To hope in something is to lack it.
It would seem that death is near—looming over us.
The weight of our lives pulling us down while we struggle to maintain our grip.
We finally let go.
A calm rushes over us.
There’s only one possibility that we’ll survive the fall.
Hoping that we live will surely kill us.
Knowing we’ll fly will resurrect us from the ashes.
Because we didn’t survive the fall.
It killed us.
It killed Hope.
Let Hope die.
What lies at that cliff-edge is no longer a part of us.
We are no longer that person in that place in time.
We’re no longer who we once were.
We’ve learned to soar because we surrendered ourselves to the fall.
Live, prosperously knowing that faith is your flight path.