I have heard such stories of miracles. Of life, love, death, ambition, career, and love again. Hearing every story warmed the cockles of my heart, and made me feel that tiny seed of hope. Hope germinated within me that my miracle was waiting round the corner. Waiting for the right time to show up, and make it all ok. Make me believe once again that life is a wonderful, wonderful journey to be savoured with each moment of each day. When darkness falls however, I falter and question this blind faith. Is it that I am too naive to accept the bleakness and the starkness of reality? That I prefer to hang on to the illusion of happiness and the concept of happily ever after, than to face logic and reason? And does that make me the village idiot? To be ridiculed and made fun off, to be raved and ranted at, to be shaken and told that it was impossible. How could it be impossible, if there was a sliver of doubt? A tiny ray of sunshine escaping from a dark room. So although there is darkness all around me, I hope for light. Through the pain, and the hurt, I hope for a particular smile, a sardonic shake of the head, and a mischievous grin. Hope that I wake up to sunny skies, and am told that the darkness was a bad dream. I hope for a miracle.
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