Dear Luck,

You know I am always thinking—

hoping—

for you.

Everyone is.

You are quite popular, you know.

They wish me that you are well,

except stage actors, those bastards.

Are you well? Really, are you? You seem used,

blamed,

never getting a break unless

you take a step away.

Well, if you do, then you are—in name—abused.

You are squeezed out of talismans

by almost every breathing man.

The child dashes after rainbows.

We sit in the meadow for hours on end

until we find your fabled clover. Some of us

never do.

It’s for the best you hide,

or you would never survive.

But he finds you in his game of cat and mouse.

And shakes the die until you feel like you’ve died.

I know life is hard when you never really get to pass.

I know you are still there, I just can’t seem to see you through

misfortune.

I’m here to help you...answer me!!

I’m wishing you’ll do me a favor in return in

my time of grief to muffle my flaws.

Luckily, this is the last time.

I promise.

Maybe.

Sincerely,

Caitlin