Where do all the wishes go that never came true? Are they somewhere above all our heads? Set free into the sky by the many, and never retrieved. Living high above what we can comprehend, and in between what we can’t. I like to think I haven’t let go of my wish. That it’s never left my arms. I don’t want to limit my wish to being one thing. A rigid statue reflecting only a specific period of time. You can’t expect a wish to flourish if its thoughts can’t move forward. I like to feel my wish’s breath against my body. Proof that it’s alive, ever changing, growing. My wish is my best friend. I want my wish to want me, just like I want it. I hope it does. I hope it’s proud of me. I’m proud of it. It’s patient, yet eager. It can feel the heartbeat of the world louder than I. And its voice is strong and sweet like a giant with a body of glass. But it only speaks when necessary. Unlike me. I take up a lot of space. But I can feel my wish starting to nuzzle in between my consonants. The time is almost here for it to sing. It won’t be sudden. It’ll be gradual. Like if waking up felt the same as falling asleep. You don’t know it’s happened until you’re in the middle of a dream.