Hope Dies Last, But It Still Dies

3 eggs beaten well; unrecognizable from the time they came into this world—headfirst.
2 cups of disappointment, left to mature in the back of a cupboard, cobwebbed and rotten.
1 crystal ball, smashed on a surface unyielding.
Your fortune, distorted by the cracks.
¼ cup of chocolate pieces; dark and bitter like dreams left to burn in sun.
A sprinkle of vanilla—a rare taste of heaven you were allowed once.
Stir it altogether and let magic do her work
until you have something
that can slip,
past that knot in your throat.

By Rodopiani C., 18, Greece