{"sf1_id":1591715,"sf2_id":"pnGgdo2n","title":"Wishing Well","author":"Dwale","words":140,"posted_at":"2020-06-17T08:11:00.000Z","tags":["Poetry"],"url":"https://fse.anthro.fr/stories/1591715-wishing-well","original_url":"https://sofurry.com/s/pnGgdo2n","image_url":"https://cdn.sofurryfiles.com/submissions/thumbnails/47/27/47277ec3-3609-4810-95e3-c020404930f7","description":"I don't know. You tell me.","content":"I remember that one late August night,  \nWatching the moths mob the lantern's amber  \nLight, the summer wind playing with the flame,  \nYour ebon hair, swaying, caressed your neck.  \nI saw you swallow. I envied your spit.  \nYou looked upward to the wild country sky,  \nThe wide universe's starshine echoed  \nIn hazel eyes, not mine, Oh Lord, not mine.  \n  \nI stop to wipe my eighty-proof tears, and  \nCheck my pockets for the past twenty years.  \nHow strange, the one thing that's still the same:  \nYour name inscribed on this old paper heart,  \nBut apart from that, I've got nothing but change.  \nThat's good, you know. So maybe I'll let go.  \nA shining rain falls down to the stones,  \nAnd I can't believe all the things I've done.  \nSilver lights shimmer in the wishing well,  \nStriving to become myself  \nWithout you.  \n  \n  \n\n"}