put a “define ______” in my ask to hear how they learned that concept

Hope is…is this…thing.

I don’t know anymore. There was this…thing that I felt a long time ago. Hope’s Peak—misnomer. She had these crazy violet eyes. Unscrupulous. She’d crouch next to a dead cat, look at it for a long, long time and then determine it’s time of death and…and how it was feeling before it died, and it’s name and which direction the wind was blowing—she had hope for me.

I borrowed hope from all of them, and they from me. It was a giving, taking process; his bright red hair, the funky half-smile of Mukuro-chan, even if she never really spoke to me she kind of laughed at my jokes and that was enough. We were close, you know? Hope for the future, hope for when the diploma landed in our hands we’d be at each other’s sides.

The hope started disappearing. Eyes went dull, mouths turned sour, and all the colors seemed to blend into this kind of neutral green that fit in awkwardly with memories of other colors. The hope was going, going, gone. And—you know, I think that’s the worst part about hope. 

You have it, once, and then it’s gone, and you hope you get it again, and then you realize it’s always been there and just slipped through again, so you keep hoping for hope. And it never comes.