Today, for the third time in the past week or so, I blew out a birthday candle and wished for something that I know won't come true. Same wish all three times. I guess that's just me. Ever the optimist.
I'm at the ferry terminal right now. And part of me, a really powerful part of me, wants to make a call uptown and see if there's a place for me to spend the night. It's been on my mind, and a dream I had this morning convinced me that that's where I belong. But maybe dreams are just dreams, just like wishes are just wishes. Maybe my place is alone in my room on staten island.
Hope is a drug. It makes you want things that won't ever come to pass. But I'm addicted. And I don't think I can stop.
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