Liosuelo

Sometimes I wish I could write down all my wishes, hopes, and dreams on little pieces of paper, crumble them up, throw them into my cluttered bag like a half-empty tube of Chapstick or dirty spare pennies, and let them get lost at the bottom.  But I can’t, because…

I am not able to stop desiring. 

Sometimes I wish I could take all my wishes, hopes, and dreams: organize them in neat, color-coded files, put them in those old-school filing boxes, stack them in my damp basement, let them collect dust, and forget them. But I won’t, because…

I am not able to stop desiring. 

At times, I wish the location where all my wishes, hopes, and dreams are stored in my brain could be lobotomized, cauterized, or hypnotized out of me. Maybe they are taking up physical space, and that’s why my head feels so heavy. But it wouldn’t work, because…

I am not able to stop desiring. 

So instead, I speak my wishes in the smooth groove of a cowrie shell and tuck it into the pocket of my jeans. 

I whisper my hopes on the tailwind of a strong gust on a full moon; perhaps that will do the trick. 

I pour my desires into the white foam of my latte art every morning. Manifestation can take its shape in my forms, right? 

And finally, when the night falls and I close my eyes, I dream my wildest dreams. And I see myself in truest form: painting, writing, dancing, reading, studying, communing, loving, laughing, eating, and happy. 

Because I will never stop desiring.