Once upon a time, there was a fox that quite enjoyed the darkness and seclusion of its den, to the dismay of his sunshine loving pack members. He ventured out only when necessary, and socialized infrequently only with those that he thought close to heart. Though there were rare exemptions when he was dragged along by his pack to places he would never otherwise gone, to meet foxes that he would never otherwise approach.
I knew this was going to happen.
The darkness of his den was calming, possessing none of the frequent disturbances brought forward by nature or otherwise. The den was comforting and required him to worry about nothing but himself and his future. His pack members could never understand that. They are of the opinion that life only exists out there in the sun, and that his ungodly long hours of seclusion could only mean that he did not live life long enough to fully comprehend the joy of the outside world, like they had.
Perhaps it is you who do not understand the essence of darkness and the stability it brings.
As much joy as the sun-lit world brings, it brings about twice as many disasters and pain. However blinded by the brightness of the sun, his pack mates often forget about the latter occurrences, only focusing on the positive, lamenting and complaining about “why does this always happen to me???” when the negatives do happen.
I told you this would happen. I told you not to put hope in a lost cause. But what can I do when you decide otherwise and get yourself hurt again and again? Even without hope and expectations, one can be disappointed so thoroughly. And now you wonder yet again why things happen to you even when it has become so painfully predictable that it will inevitably do so.
He retreats in his den, back to the solitude the darkness offers, while his pack mates complain yet once again of expectations that were never met, expectations, he thinks, that should never have existed in the first place.
Even in indifference, disappointment can break through. And when it does, it numbs the mind to so much that it thoroughly kills what hope that is left harbored in the soul.
To hope is to hurt. Placing hope in the right place will not. But more often than not people who hope place expectations that cannot be met in all the wrong places and get their soul broken to pieces. Then when the soul manages to finally heal itself, the scumbag of one’s mind will decide to place hope yet again in a place that will hurt.
Again, and again, and again.