a letter to every 10 year old that believes in the power of shooting stars

i wish  that  i could harness that  faith and keep it chained to my left wrist  so i could use it  whenever i  needed it. it'd be  reassuring  to have that reserve of unwavering hope to save my soul when it was all too much.

i really needed  that hope on sunday, october 19th. i know it doesn't seem like a big deal so i shouldn't be  worried about it.  i shouldn't think about it anymore. i definitely shouldn't remember the date.

but i do.

he  gave me a wish because he saw the shooting star that i didn't . he  gave it to me  and i haven't used it. i should have just  wished right then but i  can only wish  on things i  know will come true  and you  said to use my wish on my family. 

if  i  never wish it with  my lips then i  won't be disappointed when  it doesn't happen. but that doesn't make sense because my heart is still pleading with the  universe so i'm becoming more and more cynical as the days move on. and i just wish i could use that wish. or i  wish that you' d take it  back  so that it would stop  weighing on  my heart. 

so,  to  the 10 year old: paint courage on you  heart and don't let disbelief chip the paint. keep  wishing on stars. let your heart remain light so you can make it to all the places  you  want to go.  (oh, and if you have any paint left over, please spill some on  me.)