If you know me, you’d know that I’m not the best person to tell good news to. Even my best friends think twice before they dish out stories of their budding romances to me. Not because I’m not supportive, I usually am. It just comes naturally for me to look at the shady side of things. I always find a way to be pessimistic. I see the slightest fire of hope, and I kill it before it infects the heart. My friends come to me overflowing with good vibes, and I tell them why they shouldn’t be happy about this. They often think it cruel of me; if you ask me, I think it’s compassion. Hope almost always cascades into heartbreak, and I would hate to lose myself or my friends to such a suckfest of a word.
Which is why I don’t understand how I can now find hope in the littlest and silliest of things.
It’s only “in character” of me to break it to myself gently that this is never gonna happen. Not to people like me, and I’m saying this because I care; because I’m compassionate. I have to wake up, pack my bags, and run as fast as I can to the farthest place my feet will take me.
Knowing me, that’s not too far down the road. Knowing me, I’ll probably run back after. And, why shouldn't I? It’s cold. It has been for the past years, and what if I could really do with a little fire in my chest to warm up my cold, cold heart?