Philip II of Macedon ruled from 382-336 BC, and during that time some folks in a land called Phocis made all of their neighbors mad by farming the sacred field of Delphi. Feeling sure that they couldn't survive for long, all of the Phocensians decided to build a pile and die together in one giant human sacrifice. Just before the men joined the women and children on the pyre they mounted one final attack on their enemies, and won. Which is why Phocensian Despair is the sort of victory where the victor snatches it from the jaws of defeat. Which is probably the reason that no one ever hears of it.
Yesterday I sat at the bar alone, reading an article for class, woozy and sleepy from another impending head cold and feeling the same color as the gray drizzly sky. Someone paused next to me, a girl with flowers in her hair, who smiled and offered me the bouquet of daisies and snapdragons in her hand.
And that's all, really. Just a friendly stranger on a quiet evening, brightening things up.
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