The Endless Hope Which Harms

I remember flashes of life when I was a teenager where everything felt like it was going to be okay. That irrational hope was euphoric: I walked to and from school feeling like my body itself was light, despite atrocity, like scissors gliding through paper.

Hope. I only felt hope.

Painful peace.

I listened to music often as a kid. This was my primary way to feel briefly alive. There is a specific song I only listen to for a few seconds each year, because the echoes of that hope were encoded into it.

I don't want to sully what is good.

I feel bittersweet at this hope. Its existence doesn't feel justified. Each time I have it, the conditions of my being crush it. But I keep yearning for it.

I need someone to hug me.