Hope in Death

 

Hope is perhaps one of the strongest driving forces and retaining factors of humanity simply because of the magnitude of its birth. For some reason, what ever excruciating pain that comes with unfortunate events sparks an even wilder drive for living and sends us clinging to love. Death almost seems a celebration of life when an end is met. An end seems a boundaryless occurrence stretching across time. There is no such thing as cause then effect, cause and effect, cause is effect, then. Things are just things and, ironically, that fills them with meaning. The meaning is that we beheld them long enough to reach that conclusion. The meaning is that we care. The meaning is that we want it, despite how much it torments us, this living, and we love it. 

Hope outside of our perspective is baffling and foolish, and very admirable, it would spark the curiosity of gods. It fuels the rusty machine of the world to the very limits of time, and never ceases to induce creation, and creation never ceases to induce hope. 

Like a cruel jest, it is robed in despair when we grief and appears bright and lustrous when not needed anymore, and we embrace it anyway because which fool dares to decline a piece of our universal product? pure, solid, rare and precious.