I've been worried this whole time that I've lost a bit of hope from my life. The thought of that has terrified and depressed me over the last several weeks and has been the well from which has sprung all my tears.But last night, after dinner out at a Irish pub and a movie which was crappy so we didn't finish it, a guy friend and I unhappily sat with bad posture on the couch and talked about how lame it is that we're both still single.
So then we started to pick apart the annoyances of the dating scene, the misconceptions held by both men and women, and finally we began to talk about romance and ideals.
He admitted that he was jaded and cynical, and--as we talked--I found myself burning with desire to defend the intricacies of the characteristics of hope which I thought I had lost. I became so excited to speak that I kept interrupting him, and I felt these things so strongly that I knew I couldn't feel them if they weren't firmly planted within me.
I walked away last night with some good ideas about why I am still single, but I also walked away with relief, knowing that I have stayed true to myself and still carry hope within my heart.
