And she closed her eyes again, only now her thoughts swirled like the waves breaking on the dam. Her desires, which had changed over the years, some had been forgotten, others had become meaningless, or ridiculous, or even absolutely impossible. A few were left, not many. They had sifted. They had sifted.
He had to make another wish. And she knew which one. She was old, from childhood to adolescence. He had helped her resist when it was hard. He had made her dream. He had knocked her to the ground when he thought she would never be fulfilled, but the same desire had lifted her and sent her on. It had prevented her from fully experiencing the smaller or larger things she had experienced.
Those words. He had not written them and had not spoken them even once in a loud or whispered voice.
Loana Ciobanu, The stall with wishes