Every time they kill one of us, I get a little more afraid to hope for anything at all. I wish that wasn’t my response but it is.

Scared to hope for a future, for a family, for the safety of my loved ones, for good days. Because I don’t want to be disappointed and heartbroken. I want to expect little, so that I can accept little.

And I realize that’s no way to live and that humans aren’t capable of living that way. So maybe I’ll forget in a couple of weeks and there will be a resurgence of hope, until next time.