Fictitious, Fallacious Faith

Regardless of your supreme faith sometimes cosmic forces conspire that you harvest disenchanted scars from abundant hopefulness. This is the price you have to pay for nursing conviction in the eye of ominous challenges. You hold on to that sliver of hopefulness notwithstanding the skin-searing odds because of stubborn belief in the latent goodness of people or the general benevolence of the universe. You struggle hard on tenterhooks of something ideal, something you are passionate about, in that great anticipation that your efforts will grow abundantly into something far greater than yourself. You bargain for another day, another minute, another blink that will alter the course of constant indifference and vindicate you from enduringly demoralizing scepticism. Then you are hit with a sobering realization: Optimism is but a spitting distance from false hope—not dissimilar to a lobster in the restaurant aquarium.