Wishes, really, just don't work for me. Still I try.
I wish, if upon buying those tickets, if they called my number, I'd get my wish. But that's a lot of ifs.
I wish I wasn't afraid. I wish I understood. I wish didn't care so much. I wish I wasn't so entangled. I wish I wasn't so conflicted. I wish I knew how to handle this like a normal girl. I wish I knew who to tell. I wish I knew where I stood. I wish this didn't take my breath away, make my head hurt, cause my stomach to flip, have my heart race. But that's a lot to wish.
So I linger here, between hither and yon, (No, I don't use 'yon' in normal speak. Archaic words get broken out when I write.) a little lost, off-balance, confused, prosing introspectively, a task I used to hate. Each day is a little new, but mostly the same. I get caught up, let down, smile knowingly, try to hide it. It's a fight everyday, for sanity, for guidance, for emotional equilibrium. And I long for peace, almost as much as I long...to see...
"Go with it," I hear. That's too vague a direction for analytical me, cautious me. I need more, crave more. Wish.
Post Picture: Courtesy of thecanster of Etsy. From her listing for Blue Wish Tickets
