Now I know... there's no such thing as miracles.
Regardless of the revelation, Marius still believed. No matter what he repeated to himself, he still hoped. He'd pray for a miracle like a diver for an air pocket; idealism was like breathing to him, and it wasn't something he could give up no matter how hard he tried to change. Like a diseased thing, he'd keep clinging to the idea that maybe a miracle would finally happen and prove him wrong. Of course it never came, of course he knew better, and of course he couldn't stop hoping. For that, he loathed himself, more than he would than if he had been born cynical in the first place. Disappointment was the only thing he was certain of anymore.
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