The What Ifs

What if hope were a string, would you wear it proudly like a shoelace and have it secure your steps? Would you wrap it around your finger to remind you of what could be? What if hope were an inanimate object? A blanket, a door, a spoon, maybe a boomerang that occasionally gets lost but always returns to sender. How often would you want it, use it, keep it, loose it?

What if hope were a point, an exclamation mark to punctuate your destiny? What if it had mass, measurable weight, walked, talked, made promises yet kept none. And if one day it walked out the door in search of definition of self, perhaps out of shame, or because it felt an insignificant feature in your day, were it to pass through the City of Trust, down the motorway of promises and eventually relinquish it’s right to exist, would you miss it?

What if hope were a shadow that came and left as suited to its whim, surely even though it appears to shrink and grow as it wishes, it is still governed by a greater entity? What if hope lost its star and stopped following you? There is a hope shaped hole in my universe.