Wishes get slimy, and their colors fade, and soon they are just mud, like all the rest of the mud, and not wishes at all, but regrets.
“I regret wishing for you to like me back...”
YOU ARE READING
11:11
Randomdear stray eyelashes, ladybugs, dark tunnels, wishbones, dandelions, pennies, shooting stars, 11:11, and birthday candles, when will you do your job?
