a moment of hope

Sometimes, I tap into this feeling... rather than sensing the meaninglessness of things, I sense meaning and purpose. I can never fully touch it... it fades when touched, but if I just let it sit there, if I let it just be what it is, it can speak to me. It speaks of hope.

It's not hope for the possibility of what might be, but hope for what is fated to be. Hope for what has to be. Something that will be, regardless of whatever faulty decisions precede its emergence.

I sometimes feel this when I have a chance to just sit around and do nothing. When I happen to pick up my guitar because I want to, not because I should. When I stop thinking about what my life is and what it should be, and instead realize how little I know of what it will be. Every time life slaps you in the face, it changes the way that you'll see the world from that point on... this can be a beautiful thing, as long as you're able to look past the pain. If this life isn't guaranteed to be real, then the pain has even less of a right to draw my attention; sometimes I forget to grant it tangibility.

Moments like these are fleeting and short-lived. I try to dive into them as deeply as I do anything else, but I can only go so far. When you focus on this feeling of nameless hope, you have to wonder what it's representing. What will come to pass that this feeling speaks so highly of. You search your mind for the answer, and you search the feeling for any sort of hidden clue, but by that point, you've stripped it of its essence. And just like that, the moment has already ended.