Hope springs eternal, I guess, and is rarely questioned when it’s harbored by a woman whose idea of “Hello” sometimes involves frag grenades.
Hope means you keep on holding to things that won't ever be so again, and so you bleed an inch at a time until there's nothing left.
We're your penance, silly, the whole chaotic bunch of us, and as part of your penance, I say you're not done suffering us yet.
I really don’t think you should put your hand inside the manticore, dear. You don’t know where it’s been. —Enid Healy
