I wonder how many wishes go unwished.

How many pretty wishes of pretty girls go prettily ungranted.

How many lives have been wished or unwished but have been interfered by nothing.

Or how many times have wishes been granted, but convoluted in the ways of the old wretches and hags of the fairy tales censured from out childhoods?

How many times have I wished for love-and gotten it years later-before my own heart has failed me and wandered away?

What is the vision of God who has left lives untouched, or inversely, touched in the wrong way?

Is it necessary? What part of the human condition forces us this, while God’s hand remains invisible?

Is this all apart of his great scheme? To give us total freedom by leaving our lives partly quickly and then the rest dies slowly inside us? Inside us as individuals? As a race? He leaves us so we can have the ultimate freedom while we kill ourselves?

And who am I? Who am I to question anything?

Who am I to wish on deaf ears?