Tony had lots of wishes.

He wished that he didn’t need the stiff mask that had become a second skin. He wished that he had the confidence to stand up to scrutiny.

He wished that he didn’t have to hide behind those fake smiles and tall tales and misdirection. He wished that he didn’t feel naked without his suits and ties and expensive haircut.

He wished that he were more like him, all attitudes and principles. He wished that he were less like himself, all insecurity and neediness.

He wished that he didn’t feel a pang of longing every time he looked in his direction. He wished that he wasn’t jealous of every red head that came and went.

He wished that he had more guts, so he’d do something about that tornado of mixed up feelings in his head. He wished that he had the opportunity, to get close enough and wipe away the sorrow in those beautiful blue eyes.

He wished that his life were a movie, because in the movies, what he wished for is possible.

But life wasn’t a movie, and wishes weren’t horses.

If wishes were horses, Tony thought to himself.

If wishes were horses…