Hope. I used to think that word was a miracle. A word that could help and heal. A word that can rebuild and restore. A word that can keep a kind and good soul immortal. It used to be my favorite word. I thought I was the luckiest girl in the world to have this word as my actual name. But not now. I don’t trust this word. Not anymore. Not after what happened. They said hope can heal him. I believed them. That was the worst decision of my life.

“Hope.” There was a painful pause as I walked up to my best friends mother, she had a pained look on her face. It was easy to tell that she spent her nights crying and her days grieving. My steps were shaky as I walked slowly across the shiny hospital room floor. “He want’s to see you Hope.” She said with a pained smile. My hands shaked as I opened his room door. He was laying on his bed, his face brightened as I walked beside his bed. “Hey Leo.” I said, forcing a sad smile. His mom was watching us from the doorway. Her head leaning on the cold hard wood.

“You know what one of the nurses told me today when she was feeding me lunch?”

“What did she say?” I asked

“Hope will heal you, hope heals every soul.”

I smiled the biggest grin I could muster in weeks.

“So will you heal me Hope?” He asked with a little smile.

“I will, I promise.”

“I feel better already.” He said.

I got up to leave, but before I did he said. “Don’t forget to count the stars.”

“I won’t Leo.”

‘See you tomorrow Hope.”

“Same to you Leo.”

He died the next day at 7:22 am, on Friday February 16. He had died of heart failure. But I think he died because hope didn’t heal him. I didn’t heal him. His dark brown hair would never wave in the wind. The fingers that would never build another contraption. The eyes that would never see the stars.

I sat on the beach my dark chestnut waves of hair, flowing in the smooth wind. I live in a beach house, living so close to the beach means that there are literally no signs of the city. Just my house. Every night I walk out to the beach and sit on one of the high rocks sitting on the smooth fresh sand. And I count the stars. Now what I mean by that is I just sit. All I do is look, listen, think, and feel. The only action words that matter to me. Leo and I have been doing this since we were seven. We’re thirteen now. It’s been three months since he died.

I looked at my wrist, scars and scratches on my upper arm from climbing rocks. I inspected my face in the clear water. Eyes changing colors like a kaleidoscope. Thick long lashes. Lips the color of roses. Cheeks a light pink. Leo used to call me Snow White because he thought my face looked exactly like it was depicted in the fairy tales. But I hated being called a princess. But now I see how he thought I was.

Not only did my looks change, but my thoughts did as well. I usually didn’t trust hope. Especially after what happened. But I realized that even when someone, or something doesn’t get the ending they deserve, they will still have hope. Leo was in so much pain. He’s relieved from it all now. He won’t have to suffer trying to look at our solemn faces. Hope can come in different ways, whether it helps or not. Whether it heals or not, or if it rebuilds or not. One trait can’t decide your fate. It can’t define your destiny. But it can help you. It took me a long time to understand that. I continued thinking as I counted the stars, hoping that Leo was to.