Foul temptress

Hope is a foul thing.  Without it one cannot live.  Without hope, one is morose and sedentary and dead inside.  With hope, one is energetic, excitable, and joyful.

Without hope, one knows what to expect, dissappointments are few, and life continues at an even pace.  With hope, dissapointments are felt strongly, secondary opportunities are often passed over, and your soul withers as your hope fades.

Neither one is a promising option.  A choice must be made.

I had hope, in fleeting glimpses, as a child and again earlier in the week.  It was nice.  Different.  Exhilarating.  Frightening.  When I realized just how high my hopes had gotten, it was painful to watch them crash back to reality.  Things might work on paper and make logical sense, but with my last name that's not the way things will go down. 

If this life has taught me anything, it is to trust no one.  I am the only person who will look out for me.  I must protect myself.  No one else will, no matter how emphatically they swear otherwise.

The death of hope should not bring about feelings of comfort and contentment; at least, not according to the fictions I have read.  Life often has a way of teaching the truly important lessons in life.

Shall I trade comfort for happiness, with no guarantee of the happiness it dangles in front of me?