Dear blue-haired girl,
working at the movie theatre in Bloomingfield, Indiana,
I hope the tattooed name on your wrist
does not become a stain on your skin.
and I hope you meant it when you said,
“I’m okay thanks for asking.”
Dear boy I gave a stuffed dragon,
one I spent hours in front of the claw machine for,
I hope in your room somewhere, he sits
surrounded by trinkets given to you with smiles,
and I hope someday you give it to someone who needs it.
Dear second grade teacher,
who gave scratch and sniff stickers,
I hope you finished your book,
and I hope i’ll stumble upon on your success
and find myself within the pages.
Dear man who almost drowned
two years ago at a beach I can’t remember,
I hope you forgive me for not going out into the waves to save you.
I promise I wanted to.
I hope you forgive me for saving myself.
Dear whoever is writing this story,
God or Fate, a frantic poet,
I hope intertwining me in their plotlines meant something
more than a line in late night scawls.
a girl, hopeful of a butterfly,
to create ripples in universe
with delicate only wings.