Waves of perception

What is hope? Where does it come from? Where does it go? I know when I think I don't have it. I know when it is all that I have. I remember when I wasn't afraid of it. I remember when I started to see it as a double-edged sword.

There isn't a lot to be sure of in a world where everything changes as much as it does, but there is this stream of hope that flows nonetheless. If there wasn't hope, what would there be? I don't think there would be much at all. As much as I hate to admit it, hope is what I have when I don't even want it.

Standing beside the river of hope I can see that it sometimes flows steady and strong and it sometimes trickles as if it were almost gone. It just won't go away. Fish from it, float my paper boat in it, maybe get a canoe into it if I am that brave. I won't turn my back on it. I guess that is what I am trying to say.