Penny for a whim

Penny for a whim
You pick these moments to call me
like pennies from a wishing pond of your whims.
Pennies that, as a favor to you, I sometimes swallow, so in my silence I know nothing.
And looking at myself talking to you, I feel I know nothing,
except that maybe this isn’t what I look like, but how I want to be seen in your eyes
I may know nothing, but I know that by year’s end,
my hair will be longer and maybe I’ll make it darker.
And it will be funny to look at me then, because I won’t look exactly like you remember.
That is when it will be my pennies for the picking
in a wishing pond of my whims that you won’t have a reflection in.
But regardless, I will trust you to still remember
my favorite words that you helped me penny-pick:
‘More’ and ‘Next’.
Next.

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