hope; a fruitless endeavor

In my entire life, I cannot think of a time where hope has satisfied me. I've never reduced myself to hope with the reward of a favorable conclusion. What does hope mean to you?

Many people have told me that hope is as important as faith, as important as love. But, I find that hope is a sort of catalyst for disappointment, rarely such a catalyst for blessing.

We take these time-rounded words, faith and love, and give them simple definitions. But I couldn't define them for you. I can't use the word love without feeling the bite of dishonesty in the back of my head, and faith suffers similarly.

Faith and love, to me, are delusions, perhaps more real than hope. Love is probably the strongest. From love can bloom all kinds of faith and hope, or perhaps love is the fulfillment of faith and hope. Certainly the terms tie together.

But I've had enough of contemplating the meaning of the three, or perhaps meanings. The more I talk about them, the less they mean. For who can correctly describe a meaning? A general wish like hope? We can hope and love anything and everything. We can call them whatever we like, and yet not really call them at all.

From the dull glow of the morning moon came hope, a deep and triumphant wave of passion lifting me from behind; with the deity-like skyscraper-clouds and the pounding of the strengthening sun came hope for the best. I have hope for spring, and the following summer, when people's moods will lift like the petals of annual flora.

Lately, my dad's girlfriend has been capturing me mid-stride to drive me the rest of the way to school. It's a pleasant surprise, an unlikely and welcome disturbance of my daily trek from Grand St. to Alameda High. We are similar, or she is agreeable. I appreciate her sacrifice, and, as for my father, his decision. I know I've probably talked about my resentment for this coupling before, but, as it is, I have hope. Hope for fate, a saccharine delusion.