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.