As expected?

In a certain way, we all manage to find out what disturbs us the most, maybe 'cause our fear of the unknown is just as big as our curious instinct. Therefore, our hopes get feed every day, every single moment until we die or lose our hope, whatever comes first (actually, they both look the same).
We may not believe in hope, but -somehow- hope still believes in us, she never gets disappointed or faints after the losses.

Life flows and goes on (otherwise we'd be dead matter), and so should (ought to) be our hope and the dreams it carries on. But, what could we do when the stronghold of our spirit falls beneath the weight of the sorrow and the sadness?

Después de ésto, me levanté de la escalera frente a Aulas de Ingeniería y me fui a alguna otra parte...