I walk on a beach at noon
And find myself wishing.
I think there are no falling stars,
Only at night.

She will never come back.

I see a starfish and pick it.
Then I just play pretend
That it can grant wishes.
It never happens.

I was so young then.

Wishing is for children.
Hoping is naive
But accepting is reasonable.
Now, I accept it.

She will never come back.