Once upon a time, in the greatest depths of our collective ocean mind, hope was but a sardine, swimming aimlessly in the vast and endless aquatic abyss. But lo and behold, the tides of irony stir!
"Hope," she whispered, "is nothing but a fishy mirage."
The ocean floor, littered with remnants of sunken dreams and rusted utopias, gleams not of gold but of cynicism. Look closer, and you shall find:
And what of the surfacing? Those who dare breach the water's surface, gasping for air, find not the golden sun of illumination but the smog of existential crisis.