I want a fresh pineapple every morning until the floaties in my eyes have been eaten away. I want a better name for pangolins, and two lush plants that do not need a single thing beyond my daily unchecked adoration. I want to live inside an acorn with plush carpeting the color of meadows, and to wear a dress of lace so fine that it is smooth to the touch. I want small webbed feet that patter patter down the road. I want people to see me, to think, I hope she’s eaten, and to throw me chunks of bread.