Semi-Daily Scribbles

A month. A week, day, hour. The moment that just passed. We all sit beside the Wishing Pool. Oh cool giver of sustenance! I'd drink from you if the taste didn't drive me to excess. Excessively expressed, no less. Mesmerizing ripples and profundity for nights on end. The wish to be heard when I don't want anyone to look at me. The wish to be read when I can't stand the sight of moving lips. I long ago gave away everything that could be bought and sold. I told you so, and all for the price of a five-finger lie. Statistics don't even try to answer the call. Apply. Repeat. Again, I ask: What was the point of pooling our wishes? We all want riches for which we are ashamed to ask.