Hope needs a humble hand to guide it to the right places. Hope needs a hand that will place it in the hearts of men and women, into the eyes of children. Hope is fragile, and needs to be handled delicately, but just one spark can ignite a flame.
The handlers of hope are fairies. They look like little insects, and they spread hope to even the darkest corners of the earth. We don't recognize them for what they really are, and we swat at them, writing them off as pests.
In reality, fairies are what we call black flies. They're too small for us to see properly, and look like black dots that fly through the air, hence the name, black fly.
Hope runs in the veins of fairies, and when we kill one, the hope drains away with the fairy. IF we continue this way, hope will die out entirely, and there will be no point in living. But if we choose to listen to the little children that whisper about fairies, if we cease our obsession with destroying the littlest of beings because they're smaller than us, then maybe hope will prevail.
We refuse to see what might not be expected. Instead we choose to see what's normal. If we believe, then we can see the little creatures that give us hope. If we believe in what our children do, we can see the beauties of this world.
I see them, because I believe and have hope. Do you?
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