When I Realised What Belief Is


A gust of wind.
The temple bells ring.
The faint smell of camphor wafts through the air.
Dust settles on the elaborate, once-pristine carvings.
Leaves of spotted green sway with the wind.

Once sacred.
Now desolate.
A graveyard.
Of peeling plaster and crumbling walls. Of faded ink and painstakingly engraved letters.
Letters that mean nothing. Letters that meant everything.

Do you know how it feels to be burdened with hope?
Unheard cries and unanswered prayers. Behind them, the hopes of a million.
Hope is the last one standing.


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