‘’Why would a being like Jirachi sleep for a hundred years before granting a wish?”
The span of a human life. The wish made during those childlike years never came true, long after a person’s death. By the time Jirachi wakes up, the slips of paper taped on its head would be worn away.
A reminder of someone’s hope, rendered meaningless.
Wishes are so fragile, the fickle whims of desire so easily crushed by the weight of reality.
Yet we wish anyway.
Because of the small chance that it might come true someday. That it would make us happy.
Such precious things, wishes.
I sincerely wish that each and every one of you will make an effort to make your wishes come true, somehow.
An eternal wish, repeated like a prayer. The sincere effort to pursue it.
That’s the strength someone like Jirachi draws upon to make it real.
It will come true, even after a hundred years passes by. Even if you aren’t around anymore to see it fulfilled. Someday, someone will acknowledge your wishes for sure.
