Hope

Hope is the Thing with Feathers - Emily Dickinson

"Hope" is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul
And sings the tune without the words
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I've heard it in the chillest land
And on the strangest sea,
Yet never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me. 

 **

For a split second, I dared to hope. 

A brief, happy summary of what could be

But in the end, reality prevails.

You will always be the one who got away.

As I will be too.