When Pandora opened the box, all the evil in the world flew forth to wreak havoc, and in the bottom of the box a single thing remained: hope.
My Pandora's box contained a pastiche of stories, emotions, and an entire history I foolishly believed I'd put behind me. It's time to gather everything in, replace the lid, and walk away for however long it takes to bury it again. Somewhere in the bottom of the box, under the debris of life and love and everything else, is hope. See, even when you think the only things driving you forward are anger and fear, you have to realize that underneath it, there's still hope...the hope that things will get better when you arrive at your destination.
People, I'm not so good at...dogs, maybe. People, no. People have expectations, and sometimes, they misread your intentions to the point of ridiculousness. I get a little tired of excusing or explaining myself- an invitation to go somewhere is only an invitation to go somewhere, for example. Saying that I miss someone is because I miss them, no more, and no less. I accept what is, I hope for better, and I go on. I'm a survivor; I always have been, and I see no point in changing at this late date. Maybe it's suffering under the weight of all the disappointments and shortfalls, the little evils and great evils, and pain both old and new...but it's there. I know it's there, even if it's a little difficult to find.