Hope is a waking dream - Aristotle
Am I a fool for holding out hope? Am I being overly naïve for believing that things will change after all these years? Am I a fool for stretching out hope repeatedly, only to witness it being ravaged and beaten back by the harsh realities of people, and ultimately, life itself each time? I seek no absurd object or make no unreasonable demand (I would prefer to think so), yet I find myself disappointed each time.
Yes, I very well know that my past is strongly imprinted on me, perhaps a little too deep for my own liking, or for the matter, anyone’s. In any case, we are the products of our past; we are the sums of our experiences. I cannot deny history, lest I deny myself.
The deadening silence of the wilderness gradually corrodes my will and sanity. The length of years that I’ve made this forsaken place my abode eludes memory. Yet all I have is a fool’s hope for a better tomorrow. Nothing more than a simple wish of wearing a genuine smile.
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