The Weight of Hope

The banner of hope drapes across my shoulders, once weightless, now a stone-bound chain. Each step scrapes me thinner, a slow retreat, grinding against the wall. Hope was meant to lift me, but it drags like wet cloth, clings like hands that won’t let go, tightens like a rope disguised as a lifeline. I carry it because I must, because without it, what else is there? Yet with every breath, it steals more— talking everything, taking everything. I hold on, not out of faith, but because I have forgotten what it means to be weightless.