wishes on paper stars.

i cut out paper stars and color them black. on starless nights, i drop them from my rooftop and watch them fall, slowly, and fade into the grass below.

and as they fall, i wish on them. it's the same wish, over and over and over.

'what do you want most?' you ask me, your warm brown eyes staring into my dark ones.

but i have to look away. i'll never be able to tell you that the only thing i want anymore is for you to be happy.

'i'm sorry,' i tell you over the phone the next day, my eyes staring at an empty wall in my room.

'for what?' you ask, confused.

'i failed,' i say, wrapping a blanket around me. 'i failed.'

because none of those wishes have come true.