And the only one that stayed.
They warned me about the pills.
The shots.
The glass.
The gasps.
But no one warned me about this one.
Hope.
It didn’t come in a bottle.
It came in a whisper I didn’t trust.
It didn’t numb me.
It asked me to feel everything.
And that was the most dangerous thing I’d ever done.
I used to say, “Don’t give me false hope.”
But really, I meant:
Don’t give me any.
Because I didn’t know what to do with it.
Hope was wild.
Unregulated.
It cracked open the numb.
It threatened the survival story I had built like armor.
Because if I hoped,
I might want more.
And if I wanted more,
I might notice what I didn’t have.
And then what?
They told me to stay in the moment.
But hope made me look ahead.
They told me to accept what is.
But hope whispered, “F*ck that. Create what could be.”
It was rebellion.
It was raw.
It was radiant.
It was terrifying.
Because hope is what you feel
right before the world disappoints you again.
And I had been disappointed so many times
I forgot that dreaming wasn’t a crime.
But this time?
This time it stayed.
Even when the rest left.
Even when they called me delusional.
Even when they said “be realistic.”
Even when I was sitting on the floor with no plan, no partner, no peace—
It stayed.
A flicker.
A breath.
A dare.
And it was enough.
🧠 Emotional Takeaway:
You don’t have to earn hope.
You don’t have to deserve it.
It’s not a prize.
It’s a pulse.
And once you stop choking it down with your trauma,
you realize—it’s always been there.
Waiting.
Tiny.
Stubborn.
Still yours.
🪞 Reflection Box:
I used to think hope would set me up for disappointment.
Now I know:
not hoping was the slowest disappointment of all.
So yeah, I’m a little reckless with it now.
I hand it out.
I hoard it like treasure.
I build with it like bricks.
I let it wake me up before the fear catches on.
Because the only high I’m chasing now
is believing I still get to try again tomorrow.
🎤 I tried to stay sober from wanting too much.
But hope snuck back in with the lightest touch.
It kissed my cheek in the dead of despair—
Said, “Even here, there’s still some air.”
It didn’t lie. It didn’t scream.
It just held the edge of one last dream.
The kind that blooms in broken ground—
That says, “You’re lost, but still be found.”No drug hit harder than hope on a night
when all I could do was keep choosing the light.
I took one breath and then one more.
And somehow, I’m still here
—sober, sacred, sore.
