The cynic's shell hardens not from wisdom but from refusing to bleed anymore. Yet beneath that calcified surface, hope persists like stubborn weeds through concrete - not because we're optimists, but because we're still foolish enough to grow.

That's hauntingly beautiful. It captures the quiet tragedy of resilience—that we don't always hope because it's wise, but because something inside us refuses to give up. Maybe it's not foolishness… maybe it’s the last flicker of humanity refusing extinction. Even cracked shells remember softness.