There is an unfailing, unflinching, unstoppable human desire to expect the best.
Hope, in other words. The thing with feathers. Apparently, it floats.
What we want and what we get are usually hard to span–there’s daylight between them. So hope is the most unlikely of feelings…and yet, here we are. Here I am. Hoping still.
Standing too soon, shoulders high in the room
Hope assumes that we’re ready for what we want–that it’s right for us, it belongs, it fits. We confront the future with an eagerness it may not warrant, and we rise to occasions. Sometimes the occasions don’t deserve it.
And sometimes we stand alone, looking around a seated room, realizing all eyes are on us, exposed by hope.
Try to win and suit your needs
Speak out sometimes but try to win
Best intentions and compromise. Who are you? Who do you want to be? What is the line and where do you draw it?
These are delicate ideas, and this song approaches them so carefully–the prepared piano, the hesitating drums. A complete world in itself, hanging between what is and what could be. Springing eternal.