a voice of its own

it's probably the thousandth time i write about hope, when as a matter of fact there is little to be said about it. people can do astonishing things when fueled by hope. they can't move mountains, but aren't really far from it. and yet, hope can bring a pain like no other - a pain that hits us right in the face and send us tumbling down to the ground. it's the pain that comes after a long, long belief, after the most optimistical thoughts, after the most insane efforts to make things to go right. if we go to the bottom of it, hope itself it's an illusion, one that we have no way to control. and no, the fact that we're pessimist doesn't erradicate it, unfortunately. like the believers do always have a voice whispering in their ears telling them that some things can go wrong, that everything might fail, pessimist people have a similar voice whispering to them that everything might well be all right. that there might be a light somewhere. and that voice has a will of its own, has intention, and as it whispers, it builds the walls of a bitter illusion around us.