11:11

I thought that you were everything. I soon found out you were not. I gave up when I was a wee child. I gave up on you, on the world, on basically everything. I promised you would never get to me. Ever.

So I closed my eyes at 11:11 and made a wish. The wish was: 'Keep me away from him. Forever. Please.' The next day you were gone. Actually, I was gone. I was in a whole other state, while you were still in lousy New Hampshire. I landed in Arizona. I lived there a long time, and to be honest, I didn't forget you. You didn't traumatize me, no, not at all. I just, missed you. I didn't understand. I didn't think it was possible for me to miss you. But, I missed you.

So I called you up one day. But the phone died. I tried to send a letter, but the letter was rejected because of suspected communism. (I don't understand the US Postal Service... I thought communism was a time in the past.) I even tried to drive back to good old New Hampshire. My car died. It died in Oklahoma. I tried to get a plane ticket to you. The flight got cancelled.

I hated this. I wanted to see you. I realized I was a fool and that you were not the bad guy. I was. I had expectations of you in my head, and you didn't meet them as a child. But I'm older now. We're both older. And I kind of miss you. But now I have no way to get to you. The wish, it came true.

So I waited that night in Oklahoma for 11:11. I wished again. I wished again for the first time since the first time I did. I wished: 'I want to see him. Bring him to me.' I then went to sleep in the motel I decided to stay at.

The next morning, I woke up, and there you were. At my door. I didn't understand it. How did you find me? You said instinct. Why did you come? You said impluse. It was crazy. I hugged you.

I missed you.

Forever, Mister Owl