Chronicle of Depressed Hope

He ran for his life was worthless; she stayed for she had hope in her worthless life. He couldn’t stay for he only saw defeat in his miseries; she stayed for she foresaw the feat of her bravery. To him running away was the answer; to her running was utter cowardice. He was expected to be stronger as a man, but strength was a measure of inner durability and not physical brawns.

He didn’t see the point of staying; he was depressed. She was depressed too; she didn’t see the point of staying but she had hope – hope he didn’t have and hope she wished she could share with him.

She laid upon him and cried him an ocean. She thought he would stay; she thought her woman power had enough convictions beyond innumerable limitations. He chose to go; he chose to run from his worthless life, running with his hands and laying in his pool of cold blood. He had killed himself, it dawned on her that she had watched him go.

In the dead of the night, she laid on her wretched bed, even more depressed than ever but she was braver, she was smarter, she was stronger and she had bigger dreams. She understood that pain was inevitable – sometimes it leaves you stronger and some other times wiser. She went to bed in warm tears but she knew she had life and with that inadvertently, she had hope.

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