Wishing on Eyelashes

I’ve never believed in any God.

I found it hard to put my trust in something that I could not see,

Something that, in my eyes, could not be logically explained.

Though I would sometimes find myself jealous of those who found faith with ease.


So why is it, then, that I find myself wishing on eyelashes?

Is it really because I believe this dead hair from my eyelid

Has the ability to grant me all of my golden wants?

Surely this is more nonsensical than any God could ever be?

Yet I still find myself;

Eyes closed, lash perched on fingertip,

Steadily exhaling as I think of a wish.


And how about dandelions?

Their pretty tufts take flight in the wind

And carry my wishes with them.

Shooting stars, even.

They are just as bright as my hopes and dreams,

And thus they tow with them a small piece of my heart

To the ends of the world.

My wishes will outlive us all.


Perhaps I am too innocent, or too foolish, too naive

To believe in something so inconceivable.

But once you have lost faith in God,

Lost belief in Santa Claus even,

The world is far too much of a scary place

To not be wishing on eyelashes.


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