42

I hope for your sake that your stars are strong

I hope that your seas are wild and deep

And that your prayers are wrong and misdirected

At a sun that cares more for the colour of plants than your blood.

I hope that the lines you draw to capture symmetry won’t wash away with the stones

That I made you fill your pockets with that one night in Brighton

I hope the stitching is strong.

I hope that your moon goes dark each month

And your compass points due north

I hope you lose your way

And find yourself somewhere beautiful.

I hope the lights of Aurora Borealis remind you of how small you are

And I hope that when you taste the snow that lands in your hair

You’re reminded of the beaches in the south

Of wooden benches and sweet wine.

I hope you make friends with the neighbourhood cats wherever you go

I hope alleyways still excite you.

I hope that growing up only means wrapping the cheese in clingfilm

And that you’ll never be too old to pull the sheets off the bed and live on the floor for a week.

I hope the winterlands become your brother,

I hope the foxes and trees learn your name like the frost that comes in Autumn mornings.

I hope the salt flats remember the taste of you

And the pink lakes in Africa tell stories of the times you’ve spent together.

I hope that your footprints are erased by winds that chase you

I hope you never stop running.

I hope that your nights are dark and beautiful, and I hope that your mornings are clear.

I hope that the rain will fall and drench you to the bone

I hope that you know what it really means to be cold.

I hope that the weeks that pass while we’re apart you learn what it really is to be alive.

And I hope that when you come home, you’ll really know the pleasure of hands that belong to the one you love.