drawer

On rare occasions, such as this, I pull out my drawer, similar to that of the Darlings and begin to finger the old treasures.

Most lay tarnished, if they were ever shiny. Or frayed if they were ever strong. Some still glitter but only if not inspected too closely.

They were saved and put away with much faith. Told lovingly that they would see sunshine again when it was time. Oddly enough, I usually only take them out late at night. Or on a lonely, gray day. No sunshine to speak of.

I've often tried to clean out the drawer but some memories and hopes are too hard to part with. Throwing them out would be giving up on so much. Eternal hope can be a curse though.

When is enough, enough?

When are we supposed to stop hoping and except that what we have may never change into what we thought?

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