pistol.

and i'm wondering so many things. handfuls here and there. i want you to take these words and try to understand. too often i give you silence, and with jack savoretti drowning out the alcohol coursing through my veins, i'm gaining the courage to speak. syllables fall from these lips, and there's an stranded eyelash resting on your cheek. come, let's make a wish together.

what do i wish for? it's a good question, and you're searching for a good answer. i'm wishing for tomorrow. i'm wishing for the next 24 hours, the next 1,440 minutes, the next 86,400 seconds. i'm closing my eyes, holding my breath and wishing on the day that hasn't happened yet. you're thinking it's strange, and it wasn't the answer you expected. you're thinking it doesn't make sense, and you're thinking it's a wasted wish. what about world peace? what about poverty? what about continuing medical research for AIDS? what about making love a verb again? what about the fate of the world? well, let me tell you a secret. i believe in tomorrow more than i believe in today. i believe in second chances, i believe in taking deep breaths knowing that it felt so damn good to be alive to feel your lungs expanding and contracting. i believe in inhaling the good with the bad, and trusting yourself to filter the differences. i believe in making every goddamn moment worth something because i don't know how to do otherwise. i believe in clean slates, new chapters, and fresh beginnings. and i wish for tomorrow because it's a whole new book. same author, old biography on that backflap with the cheesy black and white studio photograph. but a whole new story. 24 hours, 1,440 minutes, and 86,400 seconds to write the vivid tale the world has ever imagined. the static and dynamic characters leaping through the pages desparate to be remembered after the last page has been turned. the climax building like the white foam of a wave collapsing into small ripples brushing against the shore. so real and alive that when you swallow, you can taste the moment slipping down your throat, so fluidly, so warm and good. so real and alive that each color paints your eyes a beautiful masterpiece. the red swirls with the purples and the blues blend with the greens, and before you can even blink, you've seen the universe on a canvas. so alive and real that every rise and fall of your chest feels like this giant leap from a rocky edge that has an invisible bottom. a quick look over your shoulder and you realize you have no wings. your bare foot sliding over the rubble, and you just take the fucking plunge. your quickening heart rises to your throat, and the wind tangles your hair, but all you know is how good it feels to fly.

and i wished to fly.

what do you wish for?