Hope can come in like an easy breeze as you wake up early, stretch and make yourself a good cup of coffee. Hope can come in like an unfamiliar feeling of power, growing from within you as if you were possessed.
Hope can come in like the first drop of rain after a scorching summer, or like the first ray of sunshine after a moist week of rain. Hope can come in like Satie’s bittersweet compositions playing in your ears as you walk around in the dark evening, illuminated by the lights of people waiting to get home.
Hope can come in like taking that last flight home, or to the love of your life, or to a friend. Hope can come in like an apology that was overdue and is a testament to restored friendship.
Hope can come in as a friend calling you, telling how they’ve finally dug themselves out of the little hole they had found themselves stuck inside. Hope can come in like a litter of little puppies making their “”vicious”” barks at you after a football game with your friends.
Hope can come in with you getting out of bed, on time, and doing what you’ve always done as well as you’ve always done it.
Hope can come in a lot of ways but it doesn’t. Hope comes like a smack right at the back of your head. It comes as a smack so loud, the entire universe hears it.
Hope knocks you, and says, “”Get the fuck up and move forward. The world is still okay, and you are too. It’s not perfect but neither are you.”” Hope comes like an epiphany, a lightning strike, and a moment out of nowhere.
Hope comes in like hope should — precisely when you need it, exactly how you need it, and never a minute too late. Hope knocks a lot, like the noisy neighbour who’s just trying to make conversation over a random favour.
Hope comes in when you open the door. Didn’t you hear it knocking all this time?