I wish I may, I wish I might, I wish I was able to fucking write.
And not just any old drivel. I wish I was able to write something - something good. Something profound and memorable and thought-provoking.
Something worthy of the thoughts that went through my head tonight.
I sat, and I watched the door, and I experienced hope.
Not terror. Not paranoia. Not disgust. Not even apathy.
Nope. I experienced hope of all things.
It doesn't matter that my hope was misdirected, unwarranted, ill-conceived, baseless, unreal, unfounded, inordinate, and maybe even stupid. It doesn't matter that the thing that I hoped for did not happen.
None of that matters.
What matters, what fucking matters, is that I'm still capable of feeling hope at all.
I would not have thought it was possible.
I am not, as it turns out, completely dead inside. I am not, contrary to popular belief, incapable of having a single solitary optimistic thought. I am not, no matter what else you might have read or heard or deduced or even simply felt, I am not a lost cause.
So, please, don't give up on me. Don't write me off. Don't turn away. Certainly, don't run away.
Because if I, after everything I've been through - if I can still experience hope, then anything is possible.
It's fucking amazing.
I wish I could write words to describe it.
I wish I may, I wish I might.
I wish, now more than ever before since all this shit started, I wish I could write.