dandelion girl

she blows me away. in some meadow in france, or spain. lays her dreams on my trembling arms, and kisses my cheek. i won’t say a word, as the breeze makes me dizzy, and the clouds begin to blur. i know it’s silly, but i don’t feel like myself anymore.

not really. because my heart is cold, and far away. my phone knows me too well, and the thunder lasts for days. but the girl i knew would have run towards the storm, just to let the sky put her in her place. she was sad, and reckless… and she was so fucking brave.

she pats me on the back, and mumbles some platitude, about getting better. about how it’s gonna be all right someday, or whatever. and i cling to it like it’s all i have left, when my fingers go numb, and the clouds turn black and blue.

they say religion is faith without reason, and i think that’s what i have to do. so i will worship in the church of okay. where for a few precious hours, my breathing is slow, and steady. and my hands don’t shake.


i make a home on the edge of disaster. lay down roots between the concrete slabs, and do what i have to. save up like my life depends on it. feverishly watch the news.

just to see them; with their brilliant smiles, and their words like sharp glass. they’re beautiful, and kind, and everything i want to be someday. i hate them like i hate you.

because how dare you speak out, while i sit in the corner, eating my own words for dinner and ignoring the bitter taste. how dare you be so vulnerable, and brave? how dare you hope, how dare you sing, how dare you make me smile on bad days?

i’ve never been much of an artist. but i spend lazy afternoons, with some sitcom playing in the background–shaping myself from messy river clay. but it’s never quite right. i watch the ceramic shatter, and storm away.

the girl is waiting for me. her hair is wispy, and her gap-toothed smile makes me giggle. she dances around the kitchen, dodging the shards of ceramic with a six year old’s precision. she cries, and i bandage up her wounds.

i’ll bury her one day, beneath autumn leaves and her favourite stuffed animals. write her a eulogy. it’s convoluted, and kinda shitty. something about moving on, and trees. i’ll make a million daisy chains, i’ll let her blow away in the breeze.

and who knows? maybe i’ll even light a candle.


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