I do not know why, but I will keep hope alive. The taste of despair is perhaps bearable enough, and mayhap that I even deserve of my sins to suffer, but there comes from out of nowhere… something quite remarkable. And I cannot help but to listen to it. There shall be times, I know, when I can but hang on with the last erg of my strength, and the while, I may not know why I do it, why I do not merely give up — but there is a silence in me that understands something, something so fragile that to whisper it is to risk its fracture. This is what hope is like, I think, almost holy stuff: not some trivial side product of such and such desire, but a note in the key of a greater song, a greater logic of which it is entrusted of you to keep alive the simple meaning of some ephemeral truth. And I will realize, when the time comes, that it was never me that was keeping it alive, but that it instead was the hope that kept me alive — that made life worth living, the day worth seizing.