I Believed When….

I saw shooting stars across a pitch black sky; I wished on one.
Sometimes I wrote letters and burned them to ash; I was too afraid to send them.
I drew initials in the sand with my cherry-red painted nails 
and sighed as the wind blew them away.
When we talked, there was a burning sensation in my throat, 
and I felt like I was swallowing acid words, struggling hard to get them down, 
a piece too big to swallow.
I enjoy your presence more than I care to admit, but how do I say that?
I lay on my back under an oak tree, my feet bare, my thoughts spiraling.
I took an old, rusted blade and cut our names into bark—the knife slit like it was heated.
Candles, burned to the metal, the wick sparked and fizzled out, but I relit it, 
not caring if the hot wax spilled.
There’s no silence in my mind when the clock hits 11:11— 
it’s filled with sixteen years' worth of wishes, and I must sort them within the next sixty seconds.
59…58…57…
I planted strawberry seeds—because they were your favorite fruit—
and watched them grow like my feelings for you, which I tried to shut off like a valve.
I wrote poem upon poem until my fingers bled and my eyes were tender.
I told my dreams I wanted to see your face because I couldn’t in person.
I blew dandelion fuzzies and observed them fly into the dark sky—
the very one I look up to every night and sit patiently waiting for another shooting star.

— Sofia Colón