31,536,000 Wishes for You.

I still wish on stars, sometimes.
When one is not enough, I wish on constellations.
(I wish on entire galaxies.)

Sometimes I think of everyone I love, and think of things I’d give them if time and space allowed. I think of what I’d show them, tell them, if there was a way to open my heart as a box and dole out small, star-like pieces of what’s inside.
I wish you knew. I wish so badly that you knew just how amazing you are.
I wish you knew (as I know) that you can do it.
I wish you a place to hold on when you’re tired of treading water, and I’ll be that place when you need it.
I wish you calm, the calm that comes from breathing in and breathing out love slowly, deliberately.
I wish you passion that slips in through your skin and wakes you, before you’re ready.
I wish you hope that surrounds you and tucks you in at night.
I wish you quiet when you don’t seek it, and noisy when you need it. I wish you a song that slides inside your hips and won’t be still. I wish you a laugh that throws your head back and refuses to be contained.
I wish you well and give you my forgiveness, wrapped up neatly with a bow—no returns or conditions. It’s yours.
I wish you an end to your searching, your seeking, your angst and your ego. I wish you contentment.
I wish you happiness that drips on you like an unexpected December rain to wake you up and make you notice:
Life is beautiful. (All of it, even the broken and crackly bits.)
I wish you wistful wanting that goes unfulfilled…for awhile. I wish you pleasure, delayed. Good things come to those who wait.
I wish all your jagged edges washed smooth by tears that come from laughing too hard and too long; from beauty that makes them spill out without your permission.
I wish you a compass, so you never lose your way.
(I wish you knew that your compass is always with you, right inside your chest.)
I wish you comfort and true joy (and give you my hand to hold when you need it).
I wish you forgetting. I wish the ink of your old hurts faded, weathered by the sun, until you can’t read them anymore.
I wish you a dream that sinks its teeth into you and won’t let go. That interrupts your plans. That keeps you up at night.
I wish you a heart that aches from stretching in undiscovered places.
I wish you 31,536,000 seconds and again and again that each one wakes you up a little more.
I wish you deep, lasting, unshakeable peace (and when you think it’s shaking, I’ll sit with you until it stops).
I wish you more, and again more, and yes still more:  love.

 

(previously appeared on Be You Media)

 

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