I hate to be the one to say it: Hope is never certain

Not even when the crows descend, pecking at the ground for crumbs of forgotten lives,

Not even when the walls are full of divots from where our jackets hung on hooks, waiting for our bodies to come

Not even when you're reaching for me with knotted fingers, whispered words to remind me of something still possible -

that I could still be wrong about this, or so you hope

inspired from Deanna's Advent Poetry https://docs.google.com/presentation/d/1COKCPmzuEXAjqNTBHw0NhHYHo0rOiW9X5kMbV9MHOEs/present?slide=id.g477d557e81_0_54 and the poem “Hope” by Ali Liebegott