Written by Nishi Nandineni – Instagram: @nishi_1121
You wish a lot.
Years ago, even as a child, I noticed this.
I noticed that with your eyes closed, with every blink, you wished. I noticed that as we spun in circles to play, you wished. I noticed that as you gazed up at the few shooting stars that passed by, you wished.
I noticed that the moment you blew out your candles on your birthday, you wished. And as you slept that night, you wished.
By every shining morning, you were wishing. For something, for someone, for someplace. For anything, for everything. I never knew what you were wishing for. And sometimes, I don’t think you did either.
Because all you’ve ever done is wish. Tell me, how could there be so much for you to wish for?
Have you not lived the way you wanted? Have you not enjoyed the luxuries that so many others could not?
I think that may have been the difference between you and I.
I could accept reality as it is. I didn’t need the falsities that came with wishing for the impossible, wishing for the things that weren’t there.
But you, you always lived in your own world. In your imagination. In books. In movies.
But never in life.
So I still ask you, what is there to wish for?
You’d wish every second, every hour, every day. Did you never get tired of wishing? Of waiting?
I wonder, even now, what is it that you wish for?
Is it for the peace your house could never hold? For the friends that never stayed?
I ask you, once more, what is it?
I wondered every day, then, as I stood by your side, on the way to school. As I stood by your side throughout everything else.
What was it? Couldn’t you tell me? The one who was always there? The one who wouldn’t go to bed, even at one in the morning, until they checked up on you?
Is it too hard to tell me the wishes you so desperately wanted to come true?
Is it too hard to admit to the truth? To me?
Please, tell me again, why is it that you’re wishing, always?