My name is Hope and I am hope. Sometimes I am another worldly concept. Sometimes I’m just a girl. There are still sometimes when people ask me how I do it, how I am so perfect. I just smile because I think about the things they don’t know. About falling off that tree, lying to my parents, fighting with my sister. About all the bad grades I got last term. I’m not perfect. Hope is not perfect. Hope is a living breathing thing that keeps people inspired even when they are in the toughest places. Hope is all that, but it’s not perfect and that’s ok because who wants to be perfect anyway. Perfection is boring and I have never been happier.