Letter to Hope



Dear Hope,

Before I begin, accept my deepest apologies for not writing to you in so long. The rules here are getting more suffocating by the day; it’s hard to find a trusted man who would get the job done. Lately I haven’t had many incentives to offer either. Nobody works in exchange of prison food now. Luckily for me, I found such a desperate soul. A soul who would get this letter out and make sure it gets to you just for a second course of dinner for a week. Don’t worry my beloved, for what is the worth of a week’s meal when I have the chance to reach to you. To reach to hope. To reach to the only person I know who would embrace me with tears when I come out of this hell hole. If I ever come out that is. With every passing year my chances seem slim, and yet I hope. I hope against all odds that there will be a way. Like a path that makes its way cutting through mountains, just so it could reunite us. Every year I am disappointed but your love keeps me going. I wonder how over these years, the world looks like now. You told me it’s uglier than before, that it’s hard to differentiate between man and beast. My only consolation to you on that is don’t worry, where I am now, there is no hassle of differentiating. There are only beasts and nothing more. They spare one from the doubts of considering them human. My only worry is if I stay here too long, I might turn into one as well. What good would a beast be to you then. I hope that death strikes me before the reality of this prison does. Do not cry if that happens though. Be happy that I died a man and not a half man or a beast altogether. I do try my best to keep it together though. They found my pen and took it away. The wounds on my back are testimony to what I was made to go through for writing, I suppose it is a crime here. I managed to get a piece of chalk though. They stopped me from writing so I started to draw. They don’t understand so they let it go. They think I am a crazy old man now anyways. They found me talking to the drawing of your face once. They all laughed, and I thanked God that this façade of insanity is actually saving me from the brutalities I was subjected to. I am not a madman, I assure you do not worry my love. Would a madman ever be deserving of your love, and string together words that give you mine in return. I suppose not. Well, where was I. Yes the chalk. That is one way I keep it together. Until the same guy provided me with a pen and paper so I could write to you. I am often amused how the beasts here show these flickers of kindness at times. Im sure just food was not his only motivation to help the madman. Maybe he envies me. I have learned when times are dark, and you cannot find hope, and you see someone else writing to it, being in love with it, believing in it, it brings you strength as well. As empty handed as you may be. I should be going now, just know that even as these walls close in on me and make it hard to breath, I go to bed at nights thanking the Lord for the hope I have. The hope that makes me count all my days here and still not lose it. I will keep writing to you when I get the chance, a friend here says I should stop though. He says you are not real and I will lose it if I keep writing letters like this and imagining replies. But then again what does he know, he is but a beast.