The tragedy
of expectation is partly the expectation of disappointment. And yet. And yet,
expectation makes room in our hearts and slyly nudges our minds. Manifesting
itself in shapes we seldom recognize. Carving a space in corners we didn’t know
existed within. Leaving us to grapple with its devices and deceptions. Folding
little dreams in little pockets we carry on our beings. And making each of
these fragile like test-tube glass. Breakable. Un-mendable. The tragedy of
expectation is knowing that it creeps up, slow and low, grows steady and heavy,
and grips silent and tight. Tears in the middle of the night. The tragedy is
knowing it all, all along.
