hope is a visceral thing
 sometimes swift and blinding
  in its clarity and purpose
   sometimes slow burning
    a train that never arrives
     a flight you fear you've missed
      a light that won't turn green

      hope may spring eternal
     but in the moment it feels
    as if my heart may burst
   and when my struggle is
  an aversion to delayed 
 gratification I wonder if
the wait can possibly be worth it

and what is hope, really, but
 anticipation of something
  better or different or at least
   something real and solid and
    something you can hang your hat on
     or, if you are not one for headwear,
      something to believe in

      so when I say, take your time
     or when I say, really, there's no rush
    what I'm really saying is this:
   I don't want to rush you but
  this is really important to me
 so if you could find it in your 
heart to do so, tell me now

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