I keep a dandelion pressed in between the pages of my favorite book in case I need a wish. I hate that we’re getting older. Lately I’m roaming places I used to own and it doesn’t feel the same since I lost the key. I guess I’m just daydreaming down west 130th street. Going nowhere and everywhere, once again. I chose to love my life even during sad summers. I’ll drive and drive and drive until I can’t think of another wish that I can’t bring myself to make. After all, who grants it? where do you go when you’re roots begin to rot away? Call it home. Call it a memory. Call it longing. I don’t know. But, I’m lost on west 130th street again and even though I grew up here nothing feels the same. I wish to put a staple into my favorite memory and selfishly go back to it whenever I please. Watch the same streetlight flicker in the corner store until you can’t tell the difference. Breathe the same air you did all those years ago- it won’t feed you the same way. It’s just a daydream, after all.