Short Stories and Ideas

What is Hope?

Hope.

What exactly is hope?

Is hope the light of someone's life?

What keeps them going in darker days; darker times. Is it what keeps their eyes set on the far horizon, their chest blooming with the dream of reaching it? Is it the ground that we walk on, the streets that we dash through, the plants that we grow, the animals that roam the earth?

Is hope life?

Is it what keeps the young girl's feet cemented to the ground, her head staring forward, and filled with the knowledge that she can? That she can walk forward, brave the tightrope that spans the vast crevice within the world; the darkness in our minds? Is it what spurs the middle-aged man from his frozen state, his gaze filling with fiery determination and his head clearing , letting his optimistic thoughts finally infiltrate his mind and cling on to him fervently? Is it what stirs the old doctor from their chair, out into the open, fresh air, a light smile on their face and the awareness that they are not too late; too old to accomplish their dreams?

Is hope the string that is bound tightly around every single, person, being, entity; and pulls them on the right path – the path that leads to the heavenly light? Is hope what drives evolution forward; what keeps the world on its infinite cycle? Is hope what keeps everything on the correct line, keeps it from stopping and giving up?

Or is hope what crushes everyone's fragile hearts, do they not qualify for it?

Is it what sends countless people in a continuous downward spiral, where they plunge deeper and deeper into their dark minds? Is it what keeps someone on a harsh string, knowing they cannot stray too far, and yet they can never leave the blackness they have made for themselves? Is it what keeps a vice-like grip on their minds, knowing that when their heads are up in the clouds, they will never come to accept their reality?

Is hope death?

Is it what sends the young boy sinking to his knees before his father's grave because he followed a naïve dream to the end and refused to see reality? Is it what makes the fat tears rolls down his face as it contorts with wretched, wet sobs? Is it what pulls the middle-aged woman higher and higher until she plummets into the darkness, teetering her off the edge? Is it what pulls her towards the rapidly nearing ground and the cold air biting her skin as she knows that it is finally the end? Is it what leaves the old patient hanging when they spend too long trying to accomplish futile, childish dreams?

Is hope only there when it is most convenient and gone as soon as it has pulled us too far? Is it the naïve dream that you follow without consideration for anything else, until that same dream has destroyed everything? Is it what leads everything on a path seemingly with light at the end, only to leave them with the remnants of an illusion, standing before a dead end?

Is hope risk?

Is it not knowing whether you can tread across the thin tightrope above the crevice full of darkness? Is it going full speed despite not knowing what will happen? Is it following a unrevealed path, but wishing for it to be one with light? Is it balancing on the thin edge between failure and success?

Hope is the light in the dark.

Hope is the dark in the light.

Hope just is.

Because hope cannot be defined. If it were, it would not be needed in the first place.