I Hope This Doesn't Awaken Anything In Me นิยาย & เรื่องราว

I hope you live a life, That you so wonderfully deserve, And that you bravely reinvent yourself, As often as your soul thunders and stirs. I hope that you learn to love, Each finality and closed door, So you can find a new beginning, In sparkly showers of hope As your wings electrify, taking a flight to soar. Take care of yourself and do not trust any unknown person... I will wait for you, we will definitely meet my si...”

And because of that thought, a new set of fresh tears drops in my eyes. If this is a dream, please, somebody wake me up from this nightmare.

Instead of choosing to hope that the other person is still here, choose to be blinded by the desires of prejudice and malice. Then the voices and the wind died as suddenly as it had begun. I slowly let go of the hand that was covering it, raised my head, to see him sitting in a chair, his expression gradually stopped shaking, and a face appeared. Something in my head fell apart. I seem to forget my new terror, rush to shake him: - Hope! Hopeful Thoughts! Tell me, out of the two of them, which one is the resentment that called you here? CHECK! I woke up startled, discovered that in the empty room, the recording pen had fallen to the ground.

“That’s what I thought. You can play cool all you like but I can see it in your eyes, you didn’t think I’d wake up. You didn’t think I'd remember. But I do. Every second.” I dug my nails in. He was right. I wasn't expecting this, not so soon. And for once, I didn’t know what to do. I clenched my jaw. “So what do you want me to do?”

I was nearly faint. Could I like … invite myself up to his place? Maybe … ohh … maybe I’ll have to use the bathroom? Fuck … listen to me. Pathetic! Like I’d have a chance with him. Like I should be even remotely thinking about getting involved with him in any way. Just no no no. Very bad idea. Hope is a dangerous thing and I gave it up long ago.

"To lick his wounds. But I really hope that my words help him wake up." Nodding, I replied, "I really hope so too."

Too personal. And that scared me. I hated myself for even thinking it, hated the tiny spark of expectation trying to form in my chest. I didn’t want to hope. Hope had never been kind to me. “It’s nothing,” I whispered to myself. “You’re imagining things.” Still, my heart refused to listen. I glanced at my mother, her face pale but peaceful, tubes and wires tracing her fragile state. My throat tightened painfully. “Mom,” I whispered, taking her hand gently. Her skin was warm, familiar, grounding. “Please wake up.”

Didn’t know how my last memory became the sound of his quiet breathing and the warmth spreading through my chest where ice used to live. But when my eyes finally drifted closed, I didn’t feel fear. I didn’t feel hate. Only the quiet, terrifying pull of something I’d sworn I’d never feel again. Hope.

I can't really believe that the things that I've been dreaming about for eleven years are happening right now. If I am dreaming right now, oh please. Don't wake me up. I don't want to wake up. --

- HAZEL - I’m awake. My eyes aren’t necessarily open and my face is still pressed into a pillow but I know I’m awake. A mumble that I assume is a groan leaves my lips. I don’t want to stand up and start my day. I want to lay on a bed every day like this without a worry in the world but I don’t have that luxury.