ORIGIN: That hand was holding a pair of lungs so halfheartedly that we couldn’t resist. The wishbone was right there. For the taking. What would you have done?
Not unlike birds, breaths aren’t meant to be kept in a cage. Lungs might come with a wishbone of their own, but they are used to working in tandem, not against each other. What you get when you turn them upside down is a wishtree. Where birds come and go, and your wish doesn’t come at the expense of somebody else’s.
We hope this breath finds you well. We have heard through the grapevine that you might be considering having a change of scenery. That’s all well and good, but here’s a kindly reminder for you. Whether it’s just 1 cm or 384.400 km, nothing will really change if you keep refusing to let others in.
We have learned from our mistakes. Breath is wasted on wishes. In the future, we will strive to be the wind in your sails.
Here’s wishing you blue skies. Wherever life may take you. Beyond each and every one of your horizons. That you may breathe them in. And pass them on to those headed in the same direction.
In a perfect world, the stars would shine their luck down on us without prodding. Alas, there is no fire without air. Wishes have to be spoken aloud. Breathed out. In a sense, we make our own luck. And this is us, wishing you starry nights. May you never run out of breath.
Your first mistake was speaking your wish aloud. You exposed it to the elements. It’s easy prey. But you should be well acquainted with helplessness by now. After all, that’s what lies at the root of every wish, isn’t it?
My wish was ripe for the taking. Birds smelled red in the air. They lunged. With open beaks. I would have preferred a song to mourn the passing of my wish. But what’s done is done. I can already feel another wish taking root in my lungs. Most likely nothing will come of it. But I have learned to count my blessings. Those birds aren’t vultures circling overhead. Day in, day out. While my wish is green, I can still breathe. With hopeful lungs. That’s how I choose to live my life.
Look at those spiral shells. The voracious appetite of snails knows no bounds. That, right there, is infinity in a snailshell. Disappointment is too benign a word for what I feel. Now I know that my wish will never come true, and let me tell you, it’s not a pinprick. It’s not something that a single drop of blood can wash away. I will never forget and forgive. Those snails don’t have a monopoly on infinity. This is not what should have come of my wish. But I can hold a grudge with the best of them.
How would you describe a wish that doesn’t come true? Please, help me get rid of this aftertaste. Before the fate of my wish was decided, I would have said that the sun was shining in my lungs. I tingled with warmth. With hope. Time went by. I should have given up, but that wish was all I had, and I kept staring at the sun. I missed my chance to burst into tears. When I finally broke down, it was into ants. And they are still here. Darkening my days. My skin. Where I should feel comfortable. My tongue. Every word that comes out of my mouth. Please. Help me overwrite my definition of wish-not-come-true.
It’s not the end of the world. Not all wishes are meant to come true. I mourn mine, but I don’t hold on to their remains. I let decomposers do their job. So that I may nurture another wish in my lungs someday.
Some people scream their hearts out. But that’s not you. When you wish, you do it with all your lungs, until all that is left are bare branches. And when nothing comes of your wish, a monster sprouts. But it has learned from your mistakes. That monster won’t put a curse on you. It will drag you straight to hell. With its own two hands.
Sweat and blood. That’s the Hell I have meticulously created for you. I will make sure you spend eternity working your fingers to the bone. Somewhere you will never have anything to show for your efforts.
I read somewhere that birds don’t fly in Hell. But that’s just what you deserve. Birds flying for hours, for weeks, for all eternity, without having to flap their wings. You deserve to be haunted by that sight.
You will have no words for the Hell I have put together for you. You won’t be able to imagine an end to it, much less an escape. You won’t be able to string two words together, much less a whole wish. You will suffer in silence. As far as the ear can hear.
The road is already paved with good intentions, it’s only fitting that you burn in Hell. But I am not as heartless as rumor has it. You wished upon the stars, you wanted somebody else to do all the work. And I will do you the courtesy of using starfire to burn you to the ground.
The Wishbone has spoken, this is where you two part ways. Don’t go laying the blame at anybody else’s feet. Both of you knew what you were in for, and you went full steam ahead with your wishes nonetheless.
Winner: Crabs walk sideways. I wish the horizon didn’t belong to the sun and this moment would go on forever. But no heart is a perfect metronome. Sooner or later everybody changes. I’m sorry. I couldn’t come up with a different wish in time. I wasted this wishbone. I will try to do better the next time around.
Winner: Cats always land on their feet. That was my wish. To lose with grace. But the wishbone has declared me winner. And once again I am reminded that I don’t get a say. Most words were set in stone long before I was born, and no one cares how I interpret them.
Winner: What ever happened to may the best man win? I know that lizards shed their tails when their life is at stake, but I put my best effort, and I expected you to do the same. I don’t feel threatened by other people’s intelligence, I would never resent anyone their strength. If you had won, I would have congratulated you.
Winner: Freedom. That’s what I wished for. Wings. All my life, I have been told that birds are free. I grew up hearing their songs. And it never occurred to me that freedom would be such a lonely place. What’s the point of talking if my words will never take root in somebody else’s heart?
Birds have hollow bones. Lungs are full of air. Those roots are there to make sure that pair of birds doesn’t take wing. Who knows, you might be able to breathe through the pain of being abandoned. But just in case, let’s not test that theory. Tell me what wish has taken root and to this day remains unfulfilled in your lungs. I want to see what you owe your life to.
Money to afford a better life. That’s the wish that has the power to kill me. Because I know myself. Better is not a fixed place. It’s what lies beyond the horizon. It can’t be put into degrees, minutes and seconds. I am a dreamer. That means that I am pathologically unable to settle for an X on a treasure map. I would keep following the sun. The glint of the next coin. To the ends of the earth. Until the horizon turned into the edge of a map, and Greed led me to my downfall.
Be careful what you wish for. Thanks for the heads-up, I guess. But I was born to play chess. I have always seen 4, 5, 6 moves ahead. I might be young, but the word consequences is part of my vocabulary. That’s why I will never wish to be the best. It has nothing to do with loneliness or resentment. Challenge. Something to look forward to. That’s what I need to feel alive. Blood galloping through my veins. A horse’s mane in the wind. I want to be the horse, not the wind. Living creatures don’t withstand hurricanes, and I have no interest in becoming a thinking machine.
Call me old-fashioned, but I prefer the cameras of old. By shattering into a million pieces, those flashbulbs sure knew how to make a girl feel pretty. I would have smiled for them. I would have drunk in every compliment. Who needs the world at their feet? I would rather walk on a sea of stars. But I know better than to wish for fame. You can barely catch a breath between smiles nowadays. Flashbulbs don’t shatter anymore. The lights just close in on you. It’s a gilded net. And I would rather keep smiling in privacy.
The heart wants what it wants. But I am not foolish, I still have an ounce of self-preservation. I would never lend my voice to such a perilous wish. It will stay buried in my lungs. Until I am old and grey and set in my ways. Only then will I allow myself to fall in love. When I no longer care whether I lose myself in somebody else or not, because I won’t have all that much time left on this earth anyway.
Umbrellas shelter you from the rain. Wishes shelter you from bluer things. Like sadness and pain and despair. Unlike wishbones, umbrellas can be shared. Compromise means that both of you get wet. But what’s a little bit of rain between friends? When the alternative would be leaving someone’s wish out in the cold.
Bird Umbrella: I have very good eyesight. I have seen happiness described in every color of the rainbow. That’s the reason I can say without a shadow of a doubt that relationships don’t thrive on compromise. Yours is blue. His is yellow. Together you could make green and still call it happiness. But hearts don’t forget, and it’s hard not to mourn the loss of your original definition when the rain keeps echoing your heartbeats.
Bird Umbrella: It’s not unheard-of. Sentiments echo, and sometimes the same wish comes out of two mouths at the same time. But words alone mean less than nothing. You have to look at the expression that ripples over the wisher’s face. You have to listen for the words that have been left unsaid. That you may accomplish everything you set out to do and that you may look after me until the day I die are two completely different ways of ending the same wish.
Bird Umbrella: Dreams are a funny thing. You might want to be an astronaut or just the best in your chosen field. I have seen dreams full of stars. Full of numbers. Gears. Colors. What I have never seen are loved ones. Loving someone whose dream you are not a part of can’t be easy. But some people make it work.
Bird Umbrella: There’s a reason so many companies have no-fraternization policies. Sentiments are more sincere when you don’t compete for the same prize.