She breathes out deeply
with worn out lungs, tired lips,
still expecting those couple hundred faceless friends to say something,
to even acknowledge her.

Of course,
she doesn't know what gives her the right to deserve their attention,
neither does she understand the concept that she,
like others,
happens just to be another face upon faces.
A penny amongst pennies
thrown carelessly into a pool of broken wishes.

Yet, despite the impression her cold experienced smile
still brushing the innocent minds of her
so called 'friends'
would happen to give.

She is, still wishing.

And it's the wish, the one day,
the just maybe that makes all the difference.

See that's the beauty of a wish,
it's something with no value,
it can not be swapped,
sold nor created.

And thus it's such that an acknowledgment,
a simple 'Hello',
can still be held as a wish,
despite it's shockingly slim chances of happening
without  
               actual.  social.  intervention.



*Why are we wishing?