You ask me what I'd wish for if I knew it would come true. I knew it was true: you left me to sleep out in the cold, dawn hours and half a globe away.
If it meant I would receive frostbite, shiver uncontrollably and turn cyanotic, suffer hypothermia underneath the window with the blinds closed and you behind them shedding tears I cannot catch, I would suffer. I did.
It reminded me of the Thanksgiving my uncle had me grab the prong of a wishbone, my best friend on the other side. We made a wish and the horseshoe of ivory cracked, and splintered into two pieces. He got the larger half. I still kept my wish hidden, hoping, that one day I'd meet you.
I would suckle the sorrow from your fingers, wipe the tears and mascara with my cheek, and croon to you I will change. I can change. But, I must do that; and not for you.
Our love is like that wishbone. Every time it breaks, we wish but do not work to see it through.