Hope from a caring, kind almost-stranger

Sometimes I wake up all out of hope. There are sleepless nights that exhaust me to the point that I would sooner implode than do it all over again tomorrow. It’s hard to exist sometimes. Not just for me, but everyone. Sometimes we need a break.

The only thing I regret about you is the state you met me in. If I could’ve had it my way, our strings would have tangled sometime back in June or maybe August. You wouldn’t have known my defeat before knowing my name. You would have been met with a smile and untainted joy for tomorrow, for the chance of meeting once more.

But it was mid-October, not June or August. You stumbled into the picture on a particularly cold and dreary morning, one when I had so struggled just to roll out of bed. I was too tired to smile hello, too caught up in everything else to acknowledge all the magic before me. But you were better, and you shone with hope. It warmed me tremendously, and I suppose should have told you that. I wish I had. I should have thanked you for being a light.

November has come around now and I’m better. I sleep well more times than I don’t, and I break into a massive smile at the thought of you. There’s hope. Hope for one more encounter, hope for a chance to start again, hope for this to become something. Perhaps it’s foolish – this dependency I’ve nurtured on a caring, kind almost-stranger – but it helps. And that’s the bottom line.


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