Birthday candles are just wicks coated in layers of wax or
vessels for wishes to travel in and yet,
every year,
I wish for you to love me like you used to.

I will tell you a secret.
When I am desperate, 
I relight them and wish again.

Shooting stars are just small rocks traveling through air or
meteors on fire that will die out before they hit the atmosphere.
It is silly of me to wish upon a dead thing and yet
I still wish.

11:11 is just a constructed concept or
a time we consider prime for magic, but
time has done nothing except erase you from my memory.
Why waste my wishes upon it?

You or
a person that I want to belong to.
If only I could tell you, but
my wishes would not come true.

Featured art: Unknown