I don’t wish on stars or birthday candles or ladybugs. I never catch the clock in time for 11.11. I wish on eyelashes, because they’re me. They’re mine. They’re the only magic that’s a part of me. I can touch them, which is so unlike the stars and the time. They won’t burn me, which I can’t say for the candles. They won’t die, and I could never believe a ladybug that says the same for itself.
But I can’t wish on eyelashes anymore. It’s cheating, because now, I pull them out myself.
