Our love is golden, shining, lucky like a falling star, plummeting to the damp earth with fifty thousand children sending their wishes up to it drenched in hope.

Lucky because we are invisible, lucky because this life is hard for girls who fall for other girls as well as boys or instead of boys, lucky because we both live in the same country in the same city and we managed to find each other’s hands in the dark.

Lucky like a four leafed clover nobody can ever see in the mess of green, lucky like a dandelion’s head falling apart and losing everything in one breath, lucky like an eyelash fallen on your cheek.

We are full of guarded hope; wishes made but kept in cages because we could never quite trust them, kisses that found cheeks instead of lips because there might be somebody watching from the other side of the road.

We are lucky, or at least that’s what they tell us, from the other side of the mirror, from the field of three leafed clovers and dandelions that managed to keep their heads.