There is a thing called loss. When you lose something or someone, you lose a part of yourself. It may be close to you or just minutely important but you face a consequence you never wished to happen. The instance muddles up with your heart and the hope you relished. Hard to say but atleast you are able to address the grief of your loss. One day your tears may dry, and the grief may subside.
There is another thing called hope, longing, and a wish you rely on. Hopes to want something. Hopes to get settle. Hopes to be happy. Hopes to be fulsome. And when the time goes on and on, the feeling to want something manifested as hope becomes a way of living itself. A way of living in hope, whatever you say. Sadness may occupy you from time to time, you may cry on the couch, on the bed, in the kitchen while cooking. But you hope and cry and still hope. What do you call it as, blind optimism or just the vulnerability to not accept the reality? Things turn out to be different and seem far apart and yet you hold your heart close to the one thing you strive for, wish for, worship for.
“When you really desire something from the heart and soul, all the universe conspires you to achieve it”
–Paulo Coelho, the Alchemist
Does the world still believe in this? Hopeless romantics? Blind optimists?
You wake up and put on shower, trim your nails and you paint your nails knowing that each and every bit of your small act will impart to your hopeful world. Maybe that’s the real beauty of life. Life goes on. You will put the effort to brew your coffee and do your bed for at last you know you will need strength to be fluid. To flow continuously and endlessly till the end. Till the death.