26 going on 27, 32 going on 23.

If you were to ask me, I'd tell you the truth;

and the truth is, I wish I could pour out my thoughts just for you.

I wish I could funnel every word into your favorite assortment

of cups and spoons and straws.

I wish I could exchange every pained tear into starlight,

into a reflection of lights with a never-ending warm glow.

I wish I could make a perfume out of the music I hear

every time you talk in your sleep

and you dream of such lovely nonsense

that is just mine for me to understand.

I also wish I could take a lot of it back. I'm afraid

I have grown thin from my own repeated apologies;

from allowing our home to be damaged and weakened

by this series of hurricanes.

In my rage, there lives fear.

In your silence, there lives doubt.

You are everywhere, in all the things;

in every plan to see the world, in every book we've yet to read,

every film we've yet to see.

Every word I've yet to write.

And I wish for you to be there, only for as long as you wish to be.

And I wish to always keep trying, only for as long as you wish to try.

And I wish for you to burn through the sky with every ounce of magic

that you are and that you have.

If you were to ask me, I'd tell you the truth;

but the question now remains,

would you?