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31 January 2016 @ 03:23 pm
"Make a wish!" he exclaimed. "There they are - shooting stars."
I laughed. "Silly. Those are fireflies."
"Damn it, Nan. Obviously. Use your damn imagination. Go make a wish. Or wishes. There's a lot of those fuckers out there."
I laughed again. "Damn it, Lyle. Watch your language."
"Damn it. Just make a fuckin' wish."
I looked at Lyle, who looked too serious for such a silly thing. It made me worry, but I knew he wouldn't talk about it. So at that moment, I did what he asked. I looked at the fireflies, dancing a few feet away from us, closed my eyes, and made a wish. A few minutes had passed when I opened my eyes and looked at him. "It's your turn," I softly said.
He continued to look at the fireflies, with their ethereal glow. "I have you. Wishing for more is just greedy."

(very short story I wrote last year on an old receipt during a short blackout)