Shooting stars falling from the sky
are dead stars. Lifeless
but renew hope in those who see them.
The clock on the wall shows 11:11
I close my eyes and make a wish.
My floor is littered with dandelion spores
and broken wishbones.
Countless flowers have
shed their petals—the timeless game of "he loves me".
Fingers always crossed, deformed over time
I spent, wishing for you.
I made this because... Wala lang. Inspired, maybe, by loneliness.
I suck at poetry. I should stick to writing blogs.
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