I was never the type

to make wishes at 11:11

or look for shooting stars

or blow on dandelion petals

because it never worked for me,

so I just accepted things as they are.

I never had any hope.

Then I met you.

You with your deep voice

and your curly hair

and your contagious laugh

and soon,

you had me staring at the clock

waiting for the digits to change,
you had me gazing at the sky

every night to find a shooting star,

you had me searching meadows

to find a dandelion with lots of petals,

all so I could make on single wish:

for you to be mine.

And maybe this hope was childish,

but it was still hope,

and it was something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

And after countless wishes,

after every 11:11,

after every shooting star,

after every dandelion,

the universe gave me what I wanted,

and you became mine,

and I had something to believe in.

Little did I know,

when I was thanking

whatever higher power brought you to me,

another girl was doing

the exact same thing,

because you had given her

the exact same kind of hope

you gave me.

It wasn’t real hope,

it wasn’t even a childish hope,

it was just false hope.

You made me believe

in something that wasn’t real.

But I’m still here,

waiting on every 11:11,

searching for every shooting star,

picking up every dandelion,

but not to wish for you,

to wish for me.

To wish for my own happiness,

to wish for my healing wounds,

to wish that no one else experiences heartbreak.

Maybe you did give me something to believe in,

but it’s not you.

I believe in myself now

and that’s something I’ve never done before.



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