trillion wishesa paper deck of things to say
Random Favorites JUN 2026 23 Calendar
Fresh today · Tuesday, 23 June

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.

Drawn at dawn
Wishes in the library
92,976

I hope heaven is warm bread and clean sheets and your mother's voice saying you did good.

Happy birthday up there. Save me a slice; I'll be late but I'll be coming.

To my wife — the person who makes ordinary Tuesdays feel borrowed from a better calendar.

I love how you read in bed with one shoulder out of the blanket, like the book personally invited you.

Years in, and your laugh still rearranges the furniture in my chest.

You're the argument I never win and the comfort I never lose.

↑ pick one up
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What are we writing today?

Cabinets sorted by occasion. Open one — pages are arranged by warmth, not algorithm.

More from today

Wishing you a day that treats you the way you've quietly treated me — patient, generous, paying attention.

My love, you're the soft place in a week of hard edges.

I learned what home meant the third time you said my name without looking up.

You make coffee like it's a private language between you and the morning. I'm just glad to be allowed in.

To the woman who knows my silences by their shape — thank you for translating me to myself.

I love you in the small ways: the spare key, the saved last bite, the unspoken yes.

You're my favorite weather and the reason I keep checking the forecast.

I notice you noticing me, and that loop has been the best thing I've ever been inside of.

Wife — even the word arrived shy of describing what you actually are.

I love your hands more than is reasonable. They've held everything important without dropping much.

Wishing you a year where the world finally returns the patience you give it.

You walked into my life sideways, which turned out to be the right angle.

I love that you laugh at the joke before I finish it — you've been listening longer than I knew.

My love — your kindness is a slow river; I keep building my life along its bank.

You make growing older feel like good news.

Wishing you a day where someone else does the dishes and the cat behaves.

I love you the way old houses are loved — for the creaks, the warmth, the way the doors finally know each other.

You read my mood from across rooms, and across phone calls, and across years.

To my wife, who turned ordinary into a thing I look forward to.