“Couldn’t save her from the snake bite,” the vet commiserated.
“Wish I didn’t have to visit every Sunday,” my inner voice mutters a heartfelt desire.
“Sorry for your loss,” the aged-care home consoles at my mother’s passing.
“Rain is so depressing,” I sigh. Dry days desired.
“El Niño’s coming,” predicts a meteorologist. “Severe drought expected.”
“Don’t drive so recklessly,” in my deep desire for safety I grab his arm.
Wheels spin. Car tumbles. Tree crumples.
Darkness enfolds me as all my desires are forever quelled.