I’m tired of cynicism. Propping up the bar, all dark and self-conscious. You’re cool mate, but you’re miserable too.

Standing back and passing judgement.

Stamping on Shrugging at other people’s parades.

Sneering, ‘it’ll never work. The world’s not like that.”

Refusing to ever see the good.

Well, forget it. It’s been fun…well – interesting, while it lasted.  But I’ve met someone new. Someone you know.

Hope.  Yeah, her.

The one we used to laugh at.

“Unfashionable and embarrassing,” we said. “Hopelessly naive.”  “Moonbeams and unicorns and everything is lovely lalalalalalala.”

We were wrong. She knows it’s not lovely. She sees it as much as you.

But while you lean back, Hope leans in. While you roll your eyes, Hope asks questions.

While you turn off, Hope engages. Sticks her neck out. Makes a fuss. Shouts and feels. Laughs too loud. Cries hot, snotty tears. Wears the wrong shoes and dances in them. LIVES.

I want to live too.

I’m tired of pretending I don’t care.  I do; I do; I do. And I’d rather feel it and stretch for it and fail, than be too scared to try.

So.  I’ll see you around.  I’ll wave and be polite.  But I’m with Hope. Not just watching, but taking part.

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