I Fell in Love with Hope

by Lancali

It fell in love with resilience. Resilience is tough, skinned with taut language made of iron. He was forged by hate, dented but never broken. Beneath the impenetrable, fragile bones built his body. He was small, not broad as a shield should be. None of that mattered, though. Resilience is in the mind. He was made of poetry and broken things. Of stubbornness and dry humor. Of memories written not as proof of survival, but as proof that he lived. It fell in love with kindness. Kindness was always meant for a brittle, bleeding heart. Perhaps not very bright, nor very ambitious, kindness grew, never decorative, but always present. He knew, carrying resilience in his arms, hugging passion around the belly, and caressing hope’s missing color, that he was needed. The melodies he shared drew smiles greater than artists ever could. It fell in love with passion. Passion was a goddess. She ebbed and flowed in the sea, her waves carving cliffsides. Her humor alone could take over the world. Grinning ear to ear, she spouted foul words, pretty words, all the words she wanted. Shame cowered in fear of her. Passion gave kindness friendship on which to lean, resilience a reason to laugh, and hope a fellow flame to dance with. And hope. Hope is the bittersweet companion of loneliness. It lives in creatures of the forever, a caring home with more curiosity than sense. It tells little white lies and steals here and there. It gets lost. Lost in those who need it. Hope tastes like a day at the...