Sixty-three.

There are questions
that I don't want to answer.
I wish for things, all the time.
Mostly for undiscovered continents,
a warm body to come home to.
I don't know what sort of finale
you're expecting. Rockets, fireworks,
one last passionate kiss in the stairway.
It was me that wanted the flash of light
and secret messages or really anything at all
that would indicate, "You are not in this
by yourself." Like I said,
I wish for things. It's not as if
I'm the first person to ever stand
in front of the bathroom mirror in a panic.
"You're welcome to sleep over
and there are eggs in the refrigerator."
It was the same answer every time.