Wishbone

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I don’t like wearing my wishbone where my backbone should be.

It makes no sense. I like sense.

I do wish though. Not often. But, I do.

The human condition seems inescapable in some ways.

I wish for appreciation without possession.

For space and closeness.

For security without a lock and key.

For safety without walls.

For caution without fear.

For words when they come and silence when they don’t.

You see the beautiful flower blooming in a field?

To pick it is the beginning of its end.

Your ornate vase, no matter the price, will be its deathbed.

It will look pretty inside your walls, for a moment.

For a moment, your walls will look pretty with it inside them.

Then, it will die.

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