The Hope That Hurts

Loving you is like trying to hold sunlight in my hands, beautiful, fleeting, impossible. You smile and the world shifts beneath my feet. I fall for you over and over and over, even as the truth unravels at the edges of your words.

I know the lies. 

Not just the ones you told, but the ones I told myself to keep believing in you. You hide pieces of yourself in shadows, speak in half-truths, vanish behind excuses.

And still, I stay.

Because when it's good, it feels like something rare, something holy. You touch my face and I forget all the ways you've let me down. There is a version of you in my mind, gentle, honest, whole. 

I see glimpses of that person sometimes, like reflections in broken glass. I keep holding out, keep hoping. Maybe one day you'll lay it down, all the secrets, the masks, the damage. 

Maybe you'll turn to me not as someone you can fool, but someone you can trust. Maybe the love I give will be enough to make you want to become the person I believe you could be. 

But hope is a slow ache.

It just whispers, just a little longer...

And I listen, even when it hurts.

Because even now, with everything I know...I still believe in you.

Maybe more than you believe in yourself.