By Breanna Kettles
I used to make my summertime wishes on satellites and passing planes. (I thought the sparkly “stars” were more powerful). I knew the rules, and said the rhyme, and without fail…
To be fair, I always wished for crazy things. Like super powers, or a horse, or to make the school basketball team. Totally unreasonable wishes to demand of a poor satellite who only wanted to give the world HBO, not deal with the heartfelt plea of a child.
Today, I don’t have a glittering dot in the velvet blue night to aim my wishes at. Instead, I wish on closer lights around me.
Phone. Ring. I wish the office would call and offer me a job.
Professor. Like me. I wish I could meet you on an intellectual level and not sound pathetic.
Cute boy. Talk to me. I wish you’d admit to yourself that you want my number because I’m hilarious, and adorable, and…
And I can’t keep wishing on satellites.
Even if it would be nice once in awhile, they don’t make wishes come true. I do. (Well, except for the whole super powers thing. That’s still in the works with Marvel).