Of Endless Wish lists.

I want obvious miracles. The ones that make you believe in sheer, dogged luck.

I want a puppy and someone to help me with menial puppy duties while I just make time for walks, cuddles and cuteness.

I want a Urdu couplet of heartache dedicated to me. Would've been ideal had this been done by Rumi.

I want Sundays filled with warm April rain, big, fluffy chairs and endless reading time.

I want love, adoration and every degree of affection stored up in this world.

I want unlimited air miles and the weather on my side.

I want ownership. Of a piece of the sky and someone's imagination.

I want to carry the smell of the sea in my hair.

I want to chase passion like a first time marathon runner. Undeterred by how idiotic the profuse sweating is making him look to those on the sidelines.

I want a full, silvery moon and a guitar strumming man singing to me for when the evenings feel lonely.

I want to save the lion and the dolphin. In that order.

I want solitude, parties, routine and excitement to come find me when I'm too lazy to find them myself.

I want to influence culture.

I want enough and too much at the same time. Of things and people I love the most.

I want to collect fallen, autumn leaves from all over the world.

I want to fall in love once a week. With a gorgeous sentence, a deep dimple, a wicked outfit and the feel of skin on skin.

I want beautifully scripted comebacks to occur to me just when I need them. And not the next day.

I want new adventures laced with careless abandon.

I want mystery bottled into a Parisian perfume decanter. To spritz on myself lightly before a night on the town.

I want to explore. Brave new worlds. Inside and out.

                                         (Photo credit: Dandelion Wishes by Anthony Docherty)