I still wish on stars, sometimes.
When one is not enough I wish on constellations;
(I wish on entire galaxies.)
You can have my wish tonight. I’ll wish it for you.
I wish you passion that slips in through your skin and wakes you, before you’re ready.
I wish you hope that surrounds you and tucks you in at night.
I wish you quiet when you don’t seek it, and noisy when you need it. I wish you a song that slides inside your hips and won’t be still. I wish you a laugh that throws your head back and refuses to be contained.
I wish you your eight-year-old smile, escaping, in the middle of your important, grown-up day.
(I saw it once peeking out, before you put it away. I know it’s in there.)
I wish you wistful wanting that goes unfulfilled...for awhile.
I wish all your jagged edges washed smooth by tears that come from laughing too hard and too long; from beauty that makes them spill out without your permission.
I wish you forgetting. I wish the ink of your old hurts faded, weathered by the sun, until you can’t read them anymore.
I wish you a dream that sinks its teeth into you and won’t let go. That interrupts your plans. That keeps you up at night.
I wish you a heart that aches from stretching in undiscovered places.
I wish you more, and again more, and yes still more: love.
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