Hope.
Just when despair begins to bring a dark sort of comfort, borne of familiarity and stability, the damnable spectre of hope once again returns to taunt and nettle with its illusions. Hope – not true hope, but a memory, a faint sense of expectations once held – entices and compels with unspecific promises. Sometimes, in its capriciousness, the phantom will visit with particularly vivid fantasies, strong enough to fool once again; This time, it’s for real.
The wretch dwells in isolation, an island in the endless sea of despair. Hope fools him into leaving that island, and he wades headlong back into the sea, following an illusory light. Once again adrift, he hears the hollow voice laugh as he realizes that Hope has once again cruelly tricked him. Devoid of any will to resist, and unable to see any point in doing so, he surrenders to the darkness surrounding him.
He vaguely wonders if the ocean will swallow him permanently, or if he will awaken on another desolate, solitary island.
As consciousness fades, apathy retreats for a fleeting moment, allowing a brief, ironic musing: There’s always hope.
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