What is left to feel?

Have you ever felt a hope that burned so bright and was risking so much that it completely absorbed you?
I have felt such a hope very recently.
It was not a happy feeling, not a good one as such. It was defiant. It meant fighting what I thought the world was telling me. I wanted to to hold onto things. I was hoping for words to be spoken and moments to be felt. It was impossible for me to think of a future with these things and these people I was missing being lost. It couldn‘t happen! Life could not be that cruel!

And by now, I can tell that for me it wasn‘t.
Things came back to me.
Each night I had spent on a field begging the universe has led up to words being said and things being felt.
It came back to me.

…And what do I do now?

For years of my life, I was so used to firing up this hope to avoid falling into a hole of despair, I find it irritatingly difficult to feel anything else.
I feel like right now, I spend my life wondering about numbers. I write bills to pay bills, and sometimes I wonder how many decadent cups of coffee I should have until the end of the month, until the next month arrives already. And then I write a few new appointments at the right date into my calendar, only to wake up at six in the morning and run for another train.
I should be happy to have a job that most of the time is fun and also for so many other things, but sometimes I don‘t feel them.
Sometimes it feels surreal how after all these years of hoping and after these sweets moments of becoming the fulfilling, the embodiment of this hope, there are still so many mundane things to matter.

„I just want him to smile at me while I‘m pretty in my dress and we have coffee and not live from number to number“, I complain to my witch late at night, rebelling against my healthy and freshly established sleeping pattern, trying to figure this part out.