There was a time when you threaded your fingers through my hair and touched my face and told me all the sweet nothings I had always wanted to hear. There was a time when we could have been, when the thought of you and I did not seem so unreal. But as I lie awake at three o'clock in the morning, your face shimmers in my mind's eye, and you've never been so far away.

However, I see a shooting star—and, without even thinking, I automatically, involuntarily, instinctively waste my wish on you. And then, all at once, the ridiculous, seraphic hope returns to me in the form of crashing waves, blazing fire and wind torrents—all of which remind me of you.