Wish

Sometimes I wonder what the point of all of this is. I wonder why alarm clocks sell, I wonder why we have separate beds and separate bodies and separate hearts, because I don't know about you but I wonder if I am strong enough at all for anything, at all. My skin feels brittle and young and old, translucent and yielding, powerless, broken by innocent and not-so innocent eyes. My fingerprints are black and slick, and oh look, dear, look, I have pulled another eyelash out...It does not feel warm but I know better. What shall we wish for? I wish I knew what to wish but no, actually I wonder why we feel the need to wish at all. I wonder what the word "wish" even means. Isn't it the same as "dream", the same as "hope", same same same in its' passiveness and longing? I don't want to go on wishing on sooty salty warm eyelashes, not any more no not when my heart is burning to the frantic beat of alarm clocks ringing, spilling from our ears out of shut windows into closed-off nights. I wish for quiet. I wish I wish for innocent eyes. Please, love, I have a plan. Now we shall wish to keep our eyelashes where they belong, and trust in each other instead.