The Physics of Hope

Hope floats before your eyes

when you least expect it.

It shimmers—

patient, playful,

waiting for you to chase it.

It looks harmless at first—

all shimmer, no shadow.

But hope is mischievous.

The destination you reach

depends on which light you choose to follow.

Hope is like an extra electron—

drawn to anything

that glimmers with promise.

It binds quickly—

to illusions,

to borrowed dreams,

to anything that feels like home—

until you learn

that not all light

leads to the life

you want to live.

So choose your hopes carefully.

Some lift you,

steady and bright,

like helium finding sky.

Others pull you under,

anchored by longing

masquerading as faith.

Still—

even when it hurts,

even when you’ve been fooled—

hope floats.

It is always around,

waiting for you to grow wiser,

gentler,

better at discerning

the hope you attach to.

And when you do—

hope blooms.

It spills over like color in spring,

soft petals after a long winter.

It fills your hands,

your lungs,

your life—

until one morning,

you realize you’ve become

the garden you were waiting for.