Glowing tips of the dwindling metaphor.
There is always hope within the realm of despair. It's what completes the cycle and makes everything more meaningful and less abstract. It gives breath to us and it is the fuel that drives us - hope.
It's dark, cold and the tunnel seems never ending. Your clothes are damp and the leather boots only get heavier with every step. You don't know if you are lost nor do you know if you are at the right path. All you know is that it's dark, cold, damp and you entered this cursed tunnel, so their will be an exit at the end. You keep pushing through and struggle to maintain sanity as every step in the puddles beneath you is only leaving a dent in your soul. But you keep pushing. You have hope. Hope let's you keep going.
Your eyes are wide open and you recollect the lessons from science class, wider the eyes the more the light that comes in. You try this feeble trick to map out where you are walking towards. It certainly is a feeble attempt. There's just two ways, front or back...and there's no turning back. For a second you wished that the famous saying "there's light at the end if the tunnel" would come true, but it was just a saying so you keep pushing as hope fuels your muscles.
It must be around 8 in the evening, yiu think to yourself. Your only company is the cold, the puddles and the dark. You remember you had a match box you used to light up the camp fire before. You halt quickly and run through your damp pockets. There it is. One "BIC extra long" match box. You air out your hands and slowly feel the top of the box and open it right way facing up. There's one match inside, there probably was more but you can't see, you can feel there's one. That's hope in a physical form.
You light up the match and throw the box away. This is your life saver. This is the hope you were looking for. You look around and you are still in the tunnel, but now you can see and the flame is providing some heat. That's hope in a physical form. You are ecstatic and once again set to finish the journey you started. You guide your flame with the other hand and push through the puddles beneath you towards where the tunnel would end.
Your flame guides your path and it's heat conforts you. Now you know why you should hope. Now you know the power of hope. You are filled with new life as you keep moving. There's so much energy and the tunnel seems to be filled with colors. This is the magic of hope.
And life is what it is.
Somewhere along the excitement and the relishment of hope you forgot the concept of reality. The flame tickers down the match and eats up the firewood. At the face of a twist you do not care much for it, just long for what you hope to cone alive. As soon as it reached the end it burns your finger tips and flies out of your hands into a puddle and the sizzles fill up the space.
That is life. Yes, there was hope and there always is. There also is reality and twists. All elements that complete life and give it a justified meaning. A wicked harmony.
Now you are back at sqaure zero. In the dark, cold, wet tunnel...with burnt fingertips and a heavy heart to carry along.