Hope

You think to yourself
as you climb into bed one night
that you hope this all goes away
- you hope things will improve.
The sun is shining and
those goddamn birds are
pressed against your window pane,
their eyes aimed toward you
and their mouths open with
shrill chirping noises that resonate
in your ear canals.
People are jogging up the street,
up that hill and around the block.
You find yourself wondering
what kind of lives they live,
how they like their coffee,
if they like coffee, and what
their hopes and dreams are.
These days you've been hoping
and dreaming a lot;
hoping your life will improve,
hoping your parents' relationship will improve,
hoping for that man - that perfect man
that let you go to come back.
The thought crosses your mind
proposing that this was supposed to happen.
He did the right thing.
You hope this is true.
Hoping seems pathetic to you,
trying to make something that's
not meant to be your own yours.
You close your eyes and
hope you don't have an ambulance call
as you finally find that one perfect position
sprawled out in your bed.
Your arms feel empty and
you miss the warmth of another body,
feeling him breathe.
You need your rest because of
all those sleepless nights.
You sigh and roll over
consider giving up and moving on
but your heart is still broken
and you're still lonely from your sudden loss.
Your friends are sympathetic
and bring you out night after night
to shoot pool.
Your parents and relatives remain oblivious,
involved with themselves and their problems.
You are afraid but you hope for
the strength to move on.
A few days later, you meet a boy.
He asks you on a date.
Your feelings of trepidation
overcome your excitement.
You cry yourself to sleep
and hope for something permanently good
to stumble to your door
and not to be afraid of your opportunitues.
Your stomach hurts and the guinea pig is hungry.
You roll over and slip into a coma.
Moments later, you open your bloodshot eyes to the song of a bird.
You realize it's your pager
and that you've received that undesired ambulance call.
You climb out of bed realizing
you're getting no sleep.
As you quickly place your left shoe on
your right foot, you hope
this new day will be better than the last ... and the last.

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