A history of “hope”


 

 

It was once a small woman, who ran along a dusty dirt road. It was obviously already very old, but their course was easy and their smile had the fresh gloss of a regardless girl.

 

 

With a shape, which sat at the edge of way, it stopped and saw down.

 

 

The nature, which sat there in the dust of the way, seemed nearly bodyless. It reminded of a grey cover with human outlines.

 

 

The small woman bent herself to the shape down and asked: “Who are you?”

 

 

Two nearly liveless eyes looked tiredly up. “I? I am sadness”, whispered the voice coming to a hold and so quietly that she was hardly to be heard.

 

 

“Oh sadness!” the small woman called pleased out, as if she would welcome an old acquaintance.

 

 

“You know me?” sadness asked distrustfully.

 

 

“Natural know I you! Again and again once you accompanied me a piece of the way.”

 

 

“However…”, sadness suspect, “why flees you then not before me? Do you have no fear?”

 

 

“Why I should run away from you, my love? You know nevertheless even only too well that you catch up each volatile one. But, which I want to ask you: Why do you look so courageless?”

 

 

“I…, I am sad”, said the grey shape.

 

 

The small, old woman sat down to it. “You are also sad”, said her and nodded understanding with the head. “Tell me nevertheless, what oppresses you in such a way.”

 

 

Sadness sighed deeply.
“Oh, you” know, began her hesitating and also surprised over it that its someone wanted to actually listen, “it are like that simply nobody likes me. It is now times my regulation to go among humans and stay for a certain time with them. But if I come to them, they frighten back. They are afraid of me and avoid me like the plague.”

 

 

Sadness swallowed heavily.
“You invented sentences, with which they want to avoid me. They say: “blabla.. the life is cheerful.” and their wrong laughter leads to gastrospasms and difficulty in breathing. They say: “Is praised, which makes hard.” and then they get heart pain. They say: “One must only together-tear oneself.” and they feel a tearing in the shoulders and in the back. They say: “Only weaklings cry.” and the accumulated tears blow up nearly their heads. Or however they stun themselves with alcohol and drugs, so that they do not have to feel me. “

 

 

“Oh”, confirmed the old Mrs., “such humans is already often met me…”

 

 

Sadness collapsed still a little more.
“And I want to nevertheless only help humans. If I am completely close with them, they can meet. I help them to build a nest in order to maintain their wounds. Who is sad has a particularly thin skin. Some suffering breaks like a badly healed wound and does much pain. But can really heal only, who the mourning permits and all the tears cries, his wounds. But humans do not want at all that I help them thereby. Instead they make up a sharp laughter at their scars. Or they add themselves a thick tank from bitterness.”

 

 

Sadness was silent. Their crying had finally despaired completely only weakly, then more strongly and. The small, old woman took the collapsed shape comforting into her arms. How softly and gently it feels, it thought and stroked tenderly the trembling bundle.

 

 

“Only, it whispered wines to sadness” affectionately, “rests you, so that you can collect again strengh. You are not to walk from now to any longer alone. I will accompany you, that the dispondency get not more strengh!"

 

 

Sadness stop to crying. It straightened up and regarded surprises its new companion: “However…, but - who are you actually?”

“I?” the small, old Mrs. said smiling. “I am hope.”

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