We're a paradox. A walking, breathing, moving oxymoron, eternally hopeful while wallowing in depression. We accept niceties and smile, wondering all the while Why us? And when the day grows darker, and the offerings aren't as kind, those wonderings turn fearful but still ask Why us? And as we accept the road ahead, even as we look to greener grass and bluer skies always just beyond our fingertips though very much alive in our thoughts, we think to our future, Why not?
We like feeling sorry for ourselves. There's a deliciousness to being slighted and forgotten, and we revel in it, hot tears and hotter baths, sappy songs and downcast eyes.
We live for the hurt as much as the hope.
Until one of them is realized, until the hurt is genuine and moves beyond satisfying self pity and into genuine pain and loss, until the hope is achieved, a disappointing reality.
But it's the until then and the why us, the why not that drives us out of bed and into another bright day full of potential for hurt and hope.
We live for the balance.