You sit on your bed,  
eyes tracing the night,  
the moon’s quiet glow,  
the stars burning bright.  

And then, there it is
a flash in the dark,  
a fleeting moment,  
a shattered spark.  

You close your eyes,  
make your secret wish  
a silent dream,  
a stolen kiss.  

But it’s already gone,  
the light burned out,  
the echo fading,  
faint and drowned.  

Your dream stumbles,  
lost in the haze,  
but you still hold it,  
you still feel its blaze.  

For even a wish,  
long spent and dead,  
lingers quietly,  
in the space you’ve bled.  

I’m not wishing for a star,  
and I’m not wishing for you  
I’m wishing for a love  
that could have been true.