The world likes to live like hope isn’t the most dangerous four letter word.
Like love is or... fuck or fear or time or kill.
It crushes. It causes.
Hope is terrifying. Alarming. Swift. Unforgiving. It can maim, sweep, shift, and steal the air right from the thought of a lung. Hope ignites, it quiets. It is volatile, liable to change rapidly, unpredictably.
It can make you hallucinate and dream eyes open, agape and wet, arms out, heft and hold.
Hope can make you sweat and pulse, panic. And, oh, can it tickle. Make the face flush, skin blush and swell. It can intoxicate. It can divide and multiply.
No one can give hope to you, truly.
You just have to have it. Innately. Born and bruised with it.
Hope possesses without permission, without remorse. Like a cannonball ill-concerned with it's wake and destruction, knowing only forward momentum until eventual halted relief.
Mallory Kate is a blogger, artist, single mom and funny girl outta Nevada.
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