This poem feels like someone quietly emptying their pockets of all the impossible hopes they still carry, even when life has told them “no” a thousand times. Each line holds a small wound missing a mother’s touch, wanting love without fear, wishing dogs lived as long as our devotion to them. You can feel the ache of wanting a body that doesn’t betray you, a voice that never stumbles, a world where tenderness lasts. The references to fathers, creators, sociopaths, meteors they stretch from the intimate to the cosmic, as if longing itself has no boundaries. What makes the poem deeply human is its honesty about how much we want what we can’t have, and how we keep wanting anyway. There’s a softness in the way the speaker admits these desires without shame. The final lines turn all that impossibility into a kind of quiet courage. In the end, the poem becomes a hand on your shoulder, whispering that reaching for the unreachable is part of being alive.