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.