At the market I bought a wish in a jar. It’s not an excited genie or a spirited djinn who’ll give me anything I want – as long as I find the right words.

It’s a little jar, with a cork and a single dandelion puff. Plucked after its vibrancy faded.

You said I paid too much for it.

But what is too much if I’d wish for you to love me again?

The soft white fur lies flattened against the glass, a small caged animal. I have the right words. But releasing them could mean they might not be heard.