Can I tell you this little story? That I always tell myself? Each night I pray to the heavens, and I always wish for your health. At precisely eleven minutes past eleven, I allow my spirit to run wild. I pray before I rest my eyes, just as I did when I was a child. Please love, don’t get me wrong, I still wish for a selfish thing or two. But I always find myself wishing, that your joy is never paid past due. I wish for everyone I love, those from my past and from today; I wish for serene gardens of laughter, where each true, valiant heart may play.
I wish for your endless bliss; galaxies of dreams and desires. I wish away showers of sorrow, and smoke from your maddening fires. I wish for never ending fantasies, for they may become reality. I wish you many steamy nights, so your lover may meet your sensuality. I wish you tables filled with luxury, and a drink from the fountain of youth. I wish away your deceptions, one by one, you’ll reveal each truth.
I wish you sophisticated simplicities, for chaotic worlds of wonder; I wish you disasters that shape beauty, and marvelous minds of lightning and thunder. I wish for canyons and rivers, flowing with your trials and your woes. I wish for coastlines of resolutions, as sands soften edges of your heels and toes. I wish for each of your horizons, to be met by your profound and lustrous sun. I wish for your wish to be mine, and for our wishes to blend as one.