Hate vs. Hope

Days. I hate them. Not the actual time period, I have come to grips with that. Though there was a time that I detested anytime earlier than 2pm. Seemed ungodly, unfriendly and definitely undoable.

The Days I'm talking about now are specific days. BirthDays, HoliDays, Anniversaries.

I haven't always hated them. There was a time that I thought that Days were fun, exciting, something to anticipate with glee.

Then He changed that. It wasn't a sudden thing, it was many years in the process. Probably took that long because I am a creature of perpetual Hope. I Hope next year will be better. I Hoped he realizes Days are important to me even if he could care less. I Hoped something would change. I Hoped it'll mean more next time. I Hoped hoped hoped.

Now I Hate them. I Hate realizing that if it's going to mean something it's up to me. I Hate knowing that the only one it matters to is me. I Hate that I still have the enduring hope that something will be different this year.

I Hate ... until ...

Her
She changes that for me. Days matter to her. Moments are dear to her. Memories are cuddled, cherished, expounded and reclaimed. She doesn't let me Hate because She cares. She wants it to be special, so I make the effort. Write her silly poems to let her know I love her, tuck notes into her pockets so she knows I'm thinking about her, take her for lunch because it makes her glow with joy.

Him
He changes that for me. I am his world. I'm his touch stone. I am what makes his world peaceful and right. I hold him extra long so he knows where his center is, I love him extra hard so he never doubts what love feels like, I say it extra loud so he can't help but hear it. He brings me Hope.

Then there was no more Hate. Just Hope.