If only the universe took requests — Ted would top mine.
Fresh today · Friday, 10 July
New Wishes
A handful of wishes pulled from the cabinet this morning. Pick one up — copy, save it to your pinboard, or send it on.
Some absences echo louder than others; his is the kind you hear in every quiet room.
I keep a seat for him at the table, not out of habit, but out of hope.
Bring Ted back for one ordinary afternoon, and I won't ask the universe for anything else for a year.
If memory could become matter, he'd already be standing here, laughing too loud.
Ted, I miss the parts of me that only made sense around you.
↑ pick one up
Browse by occasion
What are we writing today?
Cabinets sorted by occasion. Open one — pages are arranged by warmth, not algorithm.
- Anniversary
- Baby
- Belated
- Best
- Birthday
- Boy
- Boyfriend
- Christian
- Christmas
- Congratulation
- Diwali
- Easter
- Eid Mubarak
- Engagement
- Farewell
- Fathers Day
- Friendship
- Funny
- Get Well
- Girl
- Girlfriend
- Good Morning
- Good Night
- Graduation
- Hanukkah
- Heart Touching
- Holiday
- Invitation
- Job
- Love
- Miss You
- Mothers Day
- New Year
- Recovery
- Retirement
- Romantic
- Thank You
- Thanksgiving
- Wedding
- Well
- Women's Day
- Sympathy
- Valentine's Day
- Halloween
- Veterans Day
More from today
Some friends become weather; losing him changed the climate.
I wish him alive again, not for the big moments, but for the boring ones we always loved best.
If wishes had legs, mine would already be running to find him.
Ted, I'd give the universe back a year of my life for a Tuesday with you.
He could walk in late, like he always did, and I'd forgive him before he sat down.
I keep the inside jokes — they're the closest thing to a phone line back to him.
If only the world's wishlist took serious applicants, his name would be at the top.
Ted, come back even briefly — we have a lot of pointless arguments to finish.
Some people leave a shape behind that no one else fits into. He left one of those.
I wish him here, where he belongs, telling us we're being dramatic.
If love could rebuild a life, his would already be back under construction.
Ted, the world isn't worse without you — but it is quieter, and not in a good way.
I'd hand back every easy thing for one difficult hour with him in it.
Some wishes are about people; mine is one specific person, and his name is Ted.
If only the door could open and he could shrug like nothing happened.
Ted, every place we used to go still expects you. So do I.
I wish him back into the everyday — the porch, the joke, the unfinished sentence.
If grief had a return address, I'd send mine straight to wherever he is.
Ted, come home — there's a seat, a story, and a friend, all waiting.