[35] – Wishes
“What did you wish for?”
The girl rolled her eyes.
“There really is no sense in asking
Useless questions.
You know that if I told you my wish
That miniscule chance
Of my wish ever coming true
Would disappear.”
They laid on their backs
In utter silence
For a good twenty or so minutes
After that.
“Is it against the rules
To make two wishes?”
The boy looked over to the girl,
Who seemed deep in thinking
With that question.
“I suppose.
What was your second wish?”
“Useless questions again,”
The girl replied, monotone.
“I assumed that your second wish
Wasn’t as important as the first.”
The girl opened her mouth, hesitated, then said,
“I wish I could count the stars.”
“Whatever for?”
“To make sure that
Whenever one went missing
I would know that out there somewhere
Someone wants a wish to be grant.”
The boy stared up at the stars.
He had wished for another shooting star.
As peculiar as it sounded, he knew he just had one wish.
He was hoping that the girl would at least get two.
“Look! Another falling star!”
The boy had sat up completely to point up at the sky
Excited and hopeful.
The girl sat up with him
Laughing and resting her hand on his shoulder
Before lying back down onto the blankets on the roof.
“That’s an airplane.”
YOU ARE READING
Pluviophile
PoetryIt was a rainy day, in New York no less. One held a cup of coffee, wishing for the rain to stop. One held a hand full of old books, savouring the moment. short story #98 poetry #51
