To Hope.
I didn’t think that there could ever be any sort of good birthed from the despair that was spawned by the disintegration of my parents’ marriage. Then I met you. This is my proposal: I want to try and live up to what I think you deserve. I want to believe that I can be the best for you. I want to trust myself to trust you. I want to invest the time, however much is necessary, into whatever it is we have, to nurture it into more.
It’s funny where a journey ends. A train of thought that boarded at death has led me here. Sometimes it’s good to lose your baggage on a trip. I’ll never forget the first train ride after I met you. I can’t recall a single face or scene that reflected or passed through the pane, but I still have the sketches, poems, lines and prayers that were penned those hours. Some have been worked into this story, others will surface in future havens, but all have their source in you and your source. I’m learning ever so slowly that there is so much more to you and me and life and love than I can record on discs or drives or print on paper.
I know that this was an odd way to come to terms with something of this nature, but I’m a little odd by my own admission. If you are my Hope, I pray that you might come to know me. There is more to me than is bound in these pages. Many of these pages can probably be cut away in due time too.
As much as I want you to know me, I want to know you. I want to read your story. I want you to read it to me. I know it may take a while, but I can’t think of time better spent. If you are to remain Hope, then I want you to know that I have no desire to create for you an identity of someone you’re not, such as Love, which leaves but two more things to say.
If this scares you, or leaves you wondering why you’re such a rotten judge of character, or why you always attract the wrong element, please, just tell me, that I might seek the Hope that will become my Love.
If this leaves you wondering, give me a chance to wonder with you, seeking out together what ever comes next.
If you’re reading this and you are the Hope of another… take whatever you can apply as my gift to you. But don’t you dare allow what possibilities may exist to stagnate or rot or even ferment. Tell whoever it is now, while the idea is fresh and true and pure, while there is still Hope; I may already be too late.
To Love.
Nothing scares me more than these evasive ideas; what is love, and who is Love; these two realizations are presently beyond my understanding; I think I know why. I can’t have this aspiration before me and the secret I’ve been harboring behind me; secrets are too quick, they are always before us, and they’re too big, insurmountable, and so before so much as the prospect begins, I have a confession to make…
There is something that you need to know…
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