Un peu d’espoir —
Of you, of you; the rain couldn’t rest, the night embraces. I kept myself busy. I tried, I tried; and when I allow myself to take a break. They’re always talking about you, on how hope seems like.
My head’s at rest. The paint on the ceiling and the light at its center. Rain’s water is falling on the walls and the pesky noise of nothingness.
“He loved someone else, he talks about someone else that isn’t you”.
“Of course, he does”.
Knowing it, hope seems like a worn-out spell. My head’s on the pillow; little rocks, maybe it feels like it. Underneath, it felt like it was.
“Aren’t you tired now?”
“It’s exhausting to be here too. Especially when hope seems like sighs, when hope seems stifling”.
I remember how the thunders released their claps; it is when the heaven abandoned its cry, after it cried the thunders would release their claps. It’s a celebration of letting go. Hope seems like it.
“Can you still remember the ringing bells and ticking clocks? And that joke that made your heart beats in 1, 2, and 4?”
“I do, it was when my heart skipped a beat. Well, hope seems like it. In a different way; it’s not when words crystallized in fear. Hope seems like it. I don’t know but it does”
The rain stopped, the night is still young. How will avoid thoughts like this? I was listening to French songs, till now, maybe till the night ends. I don’t understand some words and every phrase from every song seems like hope; I will try to understand them no matter how foreign they are. Un peu d’espoir, it means a little hope.
“What if I will get tired of this?”
“What do you mean?”
“What if I will get tired of the chase and the hopes and heartaches? What will you do if one day you’ll notice that I am not bothering you anymore? What if one day you’ll notice that I am not sending you letters, that one day I’ll stop looking for you, that there will be that time where I will give up on you”
“Will you get tired? Should I beg you not to? Should I tell you please don’t get tired of waiting?”
“For once, at least you should tell me to wait for more. I want it coming from your mouth, I want it filling your heart”
“I’m sorry, how can I say that? You’re a stubborn child. Can’t you see it? I’m always telling you to wait”