Why does hope make me cry?

Why does the feeling that things will be okay

Make me shrivel up and die?

Is it that I know the world will still be dying

No matter how much my heart is flying,

No matter how my dreams proceed without delay?

Is it that I believe myself to lack the worth,

No matter the lives I lighten with mirth,

No matter how many fears I allay?

Is it that I want what is not yet real,

No matter how strong a desire I feel,

No matter how far my hope leads me astray?

Why does hope make me cry?

It is because I know that to me, it might be real,

But to the world, it is a lie.