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Dear void (on wasted wishes)

Sometimes, when the clock hits 11:11 or I catch sight of the first star in the sky or I touch my face and come away with an eyelash on my finger, I close my eyes as tightly as I can and wish for my father. I picture his face and his laugh and imagine him saying my name. I can smell his cologne and taste white tic-tacs and for a second feel my face pressed into his chest.

When I am pessimistic, those moments seem like wasted wishes, a wasted opportunity to ask the universe for something good. But sometimes, when I time it right, the universe aligns, and I close my eyes extra tight, I think it brings him back. If only for a moment.

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