Is this hope?

Hope is so particular.

A kind of desperate trust that whatever it is you’ve been craving will come

our temporal minds always making it about what we want.

We hope for a feeling

or a person that we once had.

or a breakthrough somewhere on the other side of the world-

but it’s always what we think is right for a situation.

Is that wrong? Is this hope?

Or we hope for whatever is different than what we have today.

Maybe we’re not so particular after all

just continuing to eager anticipation of change

and the ability to look back

and pat ourselves on the back

and say

“well done. you’re different”

I’m not sure we’re ever that different really…

We keep being us, even as we crave a future version of us

that doesn’t disappoint our grandparents that wished for more defined futures for us

and our high school friends

and ourselves, most of all. our tiny, finite selves.

I feel like a mess

with my scribbled torn up Bible

next to a smudged empty wine glass

and laundry still not done

and an oatmeal bowl from this morning

I hardly make sense.

I’m not religious or conservative

or liberal or free thinking

I’m just here searching for truth.

and a feeling.

different from this muck of a cycle I’ve been in for months

is this hope? If so, then I hope.

To reveal this forthcoming version of me that feels so much more interesting than who I am today.

10-year-old me just wished to have a defined kind of handwriting

15-year-old me desperately desired to have a personal style

she wished to want v-neck polos and trendy t-shirts

And maybe she did for a moment.

but she wanted ribbons in her ponytails and jingly bracelets that didn’t match and thousands of colors at once.

22-year-old me just hopes I keep evolving.

She keeps hoping.

With a thousand colors and patterns and yes-

they all need to be washed

and the spider in the corner needs to be squashed

Maybe the future me will care.

Today’s version of me is wanted.