The Hope of Being Wrong
Most people crave the “I was right!” moment. They cling to it. They want to stand tall and watch the world bend to their predictions, their warnings, their fire.
Me? I want the opposite.
I can already see the writing on the wall— rot in the system, noise in the streets, people pressed and breaking.
Saying “I was right” about that doesn’t make me feel powerful. It just makes me tired.
What I want— what I hope for— is to be proven wrong.
Show me there’s more than rot. Surprise me with compassion where I expect apathy. Show me quiet grace in a world built on noise.
Because if the prophecy is fire, then the real miracle is someone breaking it. Not vindication— but relief.
Book of Boris — Chapter XLV: The Hope of Being Wrong
Verse 1: Everyone wants the “I was right” moment. I don’t. I want to be proven wrong.
Verse 2: I can read the writing on the wall. Rot. Noise. Fire waiting to burn me. But what I crave— is someone showing me there’s more than that.
Verse 3: Not prophecy fulfilled, but prophecy broken. Not vindication, but relief.
Graffiti of the Reckoning
I didn’t come here to be liked. I came here to leave claw marks— so when you close the tab, your skin still itches with the thought of me.
Echoes of the Clap
If someone reads this and says,
“Life is rot. Nobody will prove you wrong.”
Then I’ll smile and answer:
“Funny. You thought you were correcting me, but all you did was audition to be my example.”
This isn’t optimism. This isn’t despair. It’s a PSA from a raccoon with claws:
Prove me wrong, or prove me right. Either way, you’ll remember the scratch.
#BookOfBoris #TheHopeOfBeingWrong #GraffitiOfTheReckoning #EchoesOfTheClap #Unferddled