That’s the thing about wishes: you take a deep breath and blow, and before you know it, they’re tangled up in everything else.
They’ll float over windshields, past all the signs and sidewalks and forks in the road. Maybe they’ll drift onto the surface of a pond, where minnows can eye them from beneath. Somewhere else, a dog will sneeze from bits of wish-fluff stuck on her wet nose. A kid will pick tiny parachutes out of his hair, laughing, then run off somewhere with damp grass stuck to bare feet.
Wishes can’t really come true until you let them go; you can’t tell them where to end up. The whole point is to make them fly.
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