Does love exist without pain, does anything? Do hopes just fade when unfulfilled? Or do we hide them secretly, boxes of lost hope scattered amongst our dreams. Does hope have a resting place? 

Time capsules buried in the dirt emitting the lost words into the soil. Intoxicating the earth with unspoken desires. Maybe that’s why some roses grow profusely, and moisture collects on unfurling petals.

I’d exhume those thoughts, buried in a moment of emptiness. I’d wash those pages clean. Nothing said with an honest heart should ever be kept in such darkness.