Something reminded me of this poem today: 

A Conceit

Maya Angelou

Give me your hand

Make room for me

to lead and follow

you

beyond this rage of poetry.

Let others have

the privacy of

touching words

and love of loss

of love.

For me

Give me your hand

♫♪ Should I wait for you, my substitute for love?♪

And now, I find, I’ve changed my mind.

Easily one of the fondest memories I had of my previous school. :)

Wishes are curious things. Why do I say that? Well.

Once, I made a wish. I wished for love. I wished for a love so great and so powerful it’d shake me everyday. A love that would get me up at dawn, make me smile all day, and hold me close all the way through dusk to daybreak.

I never found the girl I’m destined to care for, look after, serve breakfast in bed and take out to magical evenings for the rest of my life. I never “Wow”-ed anybody into pulling me by the scarf and into a fantastic world all our own. I never had the chance to sweep somebody off their feet, in new ways every time.  

I never got a somebody. I was too busy learning how to string words together so people could be whipped into emotions of joy, sorrow, excitement and the like. I was caught up clutching a camera, capturing the stuff in our crazy corner of the world.

I found no one because I couldn’t be found. I was in the far corner making friends with people you didn’t notice because they weren’t as cool as you. I was in a church in summer, in makeshift classrooms teaching kids who struggled through school. I was in the mountains discovering indigenous peoples’ culture. I was moving a ball at my feet to teammates for a goal. I was reading, listening to music, watching documentaries, dancing to a different beat.

I needed no one because I was surrounded by great friends. I cried over no one person in particular - I had enough people try to take me down to keep me always on my toes, always a few heart palpitations away from stopping cold.

In the end, my life led me someplace far away where I couldn’t be kept. Something else decided to keep me and make better use of me, in ways that stir my heart everyday.

I wish the same thing every New Year, every birthday, every week, every waking hour: I wish for love. A love that tells me my life can be better. The kind that rights the wrongs in your life, the kind that never makes you hope for less.The kind that sets you ablaze with hope. The kind that kick starts all over again, on days hope is stomped out and doused with cold water. The sort that keeps you up at night, and gets you up early at dawn, for the rest of your days.

Wishes are curious things. And this 11-11-11, on a day we’re all told me make a wish, I wish for nothing more, nothing less.

(And if I had another wish? Maybe somebody to share it with too. That would be perfect.)

Because some things are better shared.

And because some moments remind us to continue to believe, wait, and hope. 

I’m learning this lately: today as I walked to the train, fumbling through pockets for where I placed my ticket, my wallet and my keys, the things we can’t see whisper to us. 

It’s like the wishes we withhold within, waiting. How sometimes missing out on the smallest, smallest things we want for ourselves - those new shoes, that raise, the fancy TV you chance on the stall in the mall, the suit to wear to work, the hug from that friend when you’re confused, the attention of the adorable person who caught your eye for weeks - not having them can be a pain you don’t have words for.

They are small to the world’s vast problems. They remain small, yet ever so near the things that shed light. Things like hope. 

They leave shadows that loom large in your life’s list of ghosts that haunt.

Tonight, I learned sometimes, all we need to hear is how much somebody regrets being reckless and careless with you. It doesn’t fix anything, except maybe the bruises on your self-esteem. And that’s enough.

You know who you are.

[And no, after all you did? I’m still not going back. I deserve better.]

Been my friend for a while now? Listen.

Yep. Still applies, never gets old.

Drops of Jupiter by Train, rendered by Ortopilot.

Someday, I pray somebody sings me this song. I’d love it. It’d be a dream come true.

Now that she’s back in the atmosphere
With drops of Jupiter in her hair, hey
She acts like summer and walks like rain
Reminds me that there’s a time to change, hey
Since the return from her stay on the moon
She listens like spring and she talks like June, hey, hey 

But tell me, did you sail across the sun?
Did you make it to the Milky Way
To see the lights all faded
And that heaven is overrated?

Tell me, did you fall for a shooting star?
One without a permanent scar
And then you missed me
While you were looking for yourself out there?
 
Now that she’s back from that soul vacation
Tracing her way through the constellation, hey
She checks out Mozart while she does Tae-Bo
Reminds me that there’s room to grow, hey
 
Now that she’s back in the atmosphere
I’m afraid that she might think of me as
Plain ol’ Jane told a story about a man
Who was too afraid to fly so he never did land
 
But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet?
Did you finally get the chance
To dance along the light of day
And head back to the Milky Way?

And tell me, did Venus blow your mind?
Was it everything you wanted to find?
And then you missed me
While you were looking for yourself out there
 
Can you imagine no love, pride, deep-fried chicken
Your best friend always sticking up for you
Even when I know you’re wrong?

Can you imagine no first dance, freeze-dried romance
Five-hour phone conversation
The best soy latte that you ever had, and me?
 
But tell me, did the wind sweep you off your feet?
Did you finally get the chance
To dance along the light of day
And head back toward the Milky Way?
 
But tell me, did you sail across the sun?
Did you make it to the Milky Way
To see the lights all faded
And that heaven is overrated?

And tell me, did you fall for a shooting star?
One without a permanent scar
And then you miss me while you were looking for yourself out there