Ferox gens, nullam esse vitam sine armis rati.

Hope. What is it? I dare not say. I happened to stumble upon it, only to suffer even far more worser than before. Let me bleed black tears. The skies shall rip asunder once again. Every experience, every memory, tells me I shouldn't hope. Why? There's nothing wrong with it either. Maybe because I have been going on my own for too long, and I already have forgotten the roots that trace back to Genesis. "Do no harm. Love thy neighbour as ye would thyself." Every mantra you learned, it's useless. It's useless in the face of life's suffering, because not many have the strength to live and still expect the worse can happen.

Too many of us live in the guises of the masks society knits for us, only to realise too late that none of our desires are actually our own. "Where is God, then?" You may ask. The madman may say he is dead, and we have killed him. Some say that no, the Lord my God is my God, and to me he becomes indescrible in all of his majestic glory.

Hope is, nothing but man's justification for his romanticism and heroism.