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Hope’s a funny thing. Sometimes it’s bubbles, like sunlight and flying And sometimes it bashes you into the rocks far below. It’s all a cycle, endless searching and finding and losing and doing it over again. I don’t know why people keep trying to get up after they fall, For the ground is steady beneath my feet And I don’t feel the world spin from down here. But then my brain says ‘stay awake, keep trying, Keep fighting, for when you plummet, it means The time before it was worth it all.’ I want to tell my mind I’m tired of this, That I don’t want to hurt anymore, But it keeps holding on to hope, those summer breezes And lavender butterflies, bright stained-glass and dreams. I’ve tried countless times to get it to stop But it won’t and it seems I’ll keep suffering. Is rose-colored, ember sparked to life, Heart beating rapid adrenaline rush Even worth burnt lips and aching fingers, Wrists striped red at the end of the road? I can’t pretend to know. That’s the thing about hope; It’s floating, holding on every time I manage to climb back from the abyss again And maybe it won’t end because I need it Just as much as I need you.