For a long time I’ve had Hope
that love would find its way.
In a coffee shop,
on the morning commute.
A fleeting look,
a double glance.
A tentative smile,
an awkward observation.
About the weather.
About nothing.
About anything.
Isn’t that how it starts,
in the films?
A flutter, a fizz.
Unrealistic expectations?
or Hope.
It was always Hope,
whispering in my ear, telling me it would be ok.
Hope.
That my turn would be soon.
That good love was near.
Single. But not for long.
School parties, innocent naivety.
Mutual friends, curious introductions.
Blind dates, awkward hellos.
Strangers to friends to colleagues, to more?
Curiosity and concern.
Questions from the outside.
Single?
Questions from the inside.
Single.
A 1000 piece jigsaw. Slowly forming a picture.
Of him.
More knowledge is more power.
To make a decision. To stay or to go.
A move forward or a step back.
The unknown or the same.
Discomfort or discomfort.
But still, always Hope.
Day-time dreaming and night-time contemplating.
A sweet fantasy.
A bitter disappointment.
A straight road and a wrong turn.
A wrong turn and a dead end.
A wrong turn.
A wrong turn.
Single.
But still, always Hope.
The silent supporter,
cheering me on.
The app on my phone.
The matches, the messages, the meet ups.
The fizz of anticipation,
of what could be.
Picturing a life,
painting a picture.
The exciting unknown.
Conversations about the future.
Shared. Together.
Holding hands. Holding power.
Single? Not anymore.
A team.
Electric, euphoric,
magnetic love.
Cheering and clapping,
it’s Hope,
waving ecstatically. At the finish line, punching the air.
Finally! Finally!
At the marathon that’s almost over.
The end destination.
Love!
Hope was fleeting. But it was there.
Still, Hope.
Then,
a worry, a niggle,
a sinking feeling.
A punch to the gut.
Crushing disappointment and chronic despair.
Again.
"Rejection is re-direction."
A dead end. A wrong turn.
Again.
Redirection.
Again.
The fearful unknown.
Heart shattering, head fogging, body aching,
retreating to bed.
A weak heartbeat, a dying flame.
Engulfing.
Darkness.
Retreating, retreating.
Hope.
Gone.
The what ifs and the maybes,
the existence of him,
the painful triggers and the sad reminders,
floating
like a balloon in a maze.
Alone.
All Hope lost.
All love gone.
Single again.
30.
In the blink of an eye.
How did we get here?
Twists and turns.
Will they? Won’t they?
High expectations, strict timelines.
Old and new,
faces and jobs and cities.
New decisions.
New chapters.
Closed chapters.
Milestones for friends,
joy for their futures.
For their long term love.
For their new beginnings.
"Looks like we made it..."
"… we knew we’d get there someday…"
she sings.
They knew they’d make it.
Certainty for the future.
Ecstatic happiness for them, eternal longing for the same.
Internal questioning, internal pessimism.
A constant voice.
Constant.
Constant.
Niggling and nibbling,
prodding and clawing
at Hope.
Fighting with it.
Questioning it.
Pulling and stretching it.
Changing it.
Constant doubt.
Constant anxiety.
Constant questions.
Love?
Hope
for love.
When?
Who?
Will it? Or won’t it?
Ever happen?
You’re single?
Still?
Hopelessness.
Dead ends. Wrong turns.
More of the same?
Unrequited love?
Sweet fantasies?
Crushing disappointment?
Or,
a steady, stable love.
A magical, mutual love.
No?
Yes.
Hope.
Still, always
Hope.
Begins again.
Pulsates again.
A nudge,
a gentle reminder.
A warm hug after a bad day.
Beating its wings from the ashes.
A phoenix,
ready,
waiting,
glowing.
Hope remains.
It waned and flickered,
and ebbed and flowed,
but it never left.
It grows.
It’s there.
A faithful friend.
My biggest supporter.
Hope at the end of the tunnel.
Hope that great love will find its way.