Losing Hope

Today, hope slipped through my fingers like sand, no matter how tightly I tried to hold on. The answer came swiftly, blunt and final—a door slammed shut, a path I had clung to now blocked. I felt the weight of it settle deep in my chest, a heaviness so suffocating it stole the air from my lungs.

I told myself I had prepared for this possibility, but nothing truly prepares you for the moment hope is snatched away. The exhaustion isn’t just physical; it’s in my bones, in my soul. I am drained, worn thin by the relentless cycle of fighting, waiting, believing—only to be told no.

A voice inside whispers, What’s the point? Maybe it would be easier to let go, to stop pushing, to stop trying to swim against the tide. But another part of me, the part that has carried me through storms before, resists. Maybe not today, maybe not right now—but at some point, I will stand up again.

For now, I just sit in this feeling. I let the pain be what it is. Because before I find my way forward, I need to let myself grieve what has been lost.

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