The grass was greener than yesterday, at least to his eyes. The misty winds danced with the pointy leaves of the hard trees, complementing each other’s movements. The flowers could not have been happier, their plush colors vibrant enough to attract masses of bees their way, buzzing on their nectaries and carrying out the cycle of life.

It was an everyday task, but today seemed more optimistic than yesterday. At least to him, yesterday wasn’t as bright as today, but yesterday wasn’t as dull as before. 

It got calmer, shinier, prettier every passing day, for he had started to hold on to a rope named “Hope”.

It glowed in the darkness, pitch-black surroundings tried to cancel its shine but it refused to fade away. Instead, it got brighter and brighter, as if the more they wanted to end it, the more it wanted to live. 

For him, holding on to this angelic mystery was hard, as he had previously merged with the darkness. Holding on to this shiny material, his hands felt warm, as if it was coated in a thick blanket of wool as if they were supposed to be wrapped in it. The rope had its own mind. It decided to encase itself around him. 

Was it the rope’s choice? Or was it he called on to it; yearning to feel this warmth and homeliness in his chest?

Maybe he wanted to be his previous self. Maybe he wanted to regain the warmth he had lost to this cruel world. He didn’t know what he actually wanted, but the rope seemed to understand better than he could. 

So it came around him. It snaked down his arm, slowly to see if he wanted to move forward, lingering on his skin. It wasn’t a matter of seconds, it was more like a few moments, maybe weeks maybe minutes, but surely the rope encased him. It had slithered down his limbs and now was finally cocooned around his skin. 

Once it did, the temperature rose. Not sensually, it was more like the feeling of a warm hug. It didn’t feel bad, instead, he felt nostalgic, as if he was back in his old self. The one he had lost to the chains of egoistic people and heartbreaking promises.

It was like a glass full of water. Like the water was his hope and with the years passing, the water kept on spilling out of the cracks of the delicate transparent glass.

Now that he felt like before, he could visualize the glass filling back with water. The cracks were still present, but the water refused to seep through them as if the cracks were non-existent. 

Maybe this is why the grass was greener. Maybe this is why the wind harmonized with the movement of the leaves. Maybe this is why the flowers were plusher than before. The long-gone optimism he held in his eyes and heart was returning a little, day by day, trying to make a home in his chest.