Life gets so complicated, motives so confusing. Words come to carry with them so much weight as to prevent their use. To speak, to write, to even think is to do damage to another.
Change always carries baggage, be it nostalgia or the more sinister bitterness and cynicism. How are we to live in the midst of avoidance and abandonment, in the face of irredeemable wandering?
How are we to mourn when hope is still present to cloud the clarity of sorrow?
We wander through life, all fundamentally alone, all misunderstood, all abandoned.
In walks hope, and it refuses to let us go.
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