It makes us fools, it makes us heroes, it makes us weep, it makes us rejoice.
Some may say it’s a choice to hope in something or someone. I beg to differ. I believe it’s an instinct. Even the most guarded cynic (though he would never admit it) can’t help but feel a teeny spark of hope when the need arises, no matter how many pails of water he tosses to try to extinguish it.
And no matter how many times we are disappointed, ridiculed, or told otherwise…
No matter how hard the blow may be, or how long it may take us to recover, or how painful the wounds are as they heal…
We always act on instinct. We can’t help it. We find a way.