I asked my mom what I should write about
Told her I was tired of writing about being a senior and then not being a senior.
She told me to write about heart hopes.
About what I’m crossing my fingers for my heart to tell me in ten years
I hope my heart has wrinkles.
The kinds that are found on the corners of worn shoes
The edges of embarrassing snorts
I hope my heart still pumps extra blood into that vein in the middle of my forehead every time I laugh
I’m wishing that there’s a “him” in my life
a good one.
A “him” that’s turned all the tears of the last month into the word meaningless on page 394 in the dictionary
I have a heart hope for midnight Ramen
For tandem bicycles
For vases and sunflowers
5 o’ clock texts
and lots and lots of sushi