Hope, don’t leave me.

I don’t need hope when everything I’ve wanted I get, every plan goes according to plan, and each step taken gives me a gold medal and cheering crowds at the end of a finish line. 

The belief that my future life might be better than my present or past, I cling to when I’ve lost so much, and then I misplace my plan. It’s those times when I’m cold, hungry, limping, bruised, and bleeding, and I cross the finish line to find no water and food, and an empty stadium.  

Hope forces me to pick myself up from those dark spaces and encourages me to take another step forward. Sometimes, the act of surviving is enough to propel me forward and to believe that sometime in the future, things might be just a little better.