He Blew Out All the Candles

Just once, I wish someone would accuse me of being mellifluous. Even if I’m not sure how to pronounce it properly. I wish I could tapdance and knit and play the piano. That I could say marvelously wise things at teeter-totter moments. Have perfectly toasted toast and soft butter and crispy soft bacon every morning. I wish I could give casual compliments. Tell people what they truly mean to me. Feel good about who I am.”

“So what did you wish for?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, moving hurriedly away from the table. “It’d never come true if I said.”

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