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Hope is the New Crack…





I can’t give it up. Hope seems to be sucking the life out of me, yet I’m addicted to hope like a junkie. No matter how hard I try to crush it, quell it, it rides up, full and insatiable. Taking me, lulling me with false promises again and again. Each time, the SAME DAMN THING! Varying degrees of disappointment withdrawal. Yet each time I meet somebody new there goes that same hope again. Pathetically resilient. Embarrassing and stubborn. Reaching through my eyes and seizing hold as if it never learned its lesson.

Even after my proclamations of happiness (which I truly am). I am praising God each day for the peace and the joy that I feel. Yet, true to junkie tendency, when I meet a guy that I like, hope shoots through me impulsively. I can’t help but take a hit off that hazy blue romanticism, the misty promises that fog the moment and shape my pleasure into whatever I want. But man, when those clouds clear…. When the endorphins die, and I am left with something more raw and exposed, and I vow never to do the shit again. Only I can’t help myself…

And here it is that I met someone. Anyone. At some random spot. Anywhere. Like so many other times in my life. I try to pay it no mind. Ignore it. An alcoholic drinking water at the bar. But there it is right in front of me once more. Hope. What is it doing here? I don’t even need it. Don’t even want it. Yet it persists. It’s existence manifesting more poignantly through it’s tainted underside. I barely even knew I was hopeful until he didn’t call. Till my phone gleamed with a beautiful emptiness. Then I knew I had been sucked in, once again.

Does this habitual hope have women sucked up in a perpetual pipe dream? Is it impossible to let go of the youthful obsession with boys, dream weddings, and love at first sight? Is it hope that prevents women like me from settling for something more ‘reality based?’ Is it hope that starts the downward spiral of disappointment? But no matter what pain I go through, I keep coming back for more. The hope in me fiercely untamed, controlling me, without my knowledge or permission. I’m hooked. Addicted. And neither bitterness nor elation can seem to rehabilitate me.




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One Response to Hope is the New Crack…

  1. For the love of God, keep writing these airctles.

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