Dandelion
He's a wandering spirit. Never roots himself down, but rather carries his roots on his person.
He's dangerous. He pulls everyone to him, but lets them go, like picking dandelions, then thrusting them away into the wind, one by one. Like Brock, good and gone with his cooking, quickly reinstated with Cilan. I can go on, but won't, because the most painful replacement is myself.
The girls: May, Dawn, and Iris. They were all smitten once – like me – by his charms, his smile, his adorable determination. But they all moved on, and I never did – do.
I wait for it. Wait for myself to suddenly jar out of my stupor, and forget, because he's never going to love me like I love him.
It doesn't happen.
Instead, I yearn for video conferences, texts, phone calls.
I curse my heart – my stupid, stupid heart that's long gone.
"He's never coming back! Nevernevernever! So forget about him!" the logical part of me screams, but when I hear his voice, my mind and heart sighs in harmony.
And my waiting and longing continues - day by day, starting with me, peering off into the far distance, wondering if he will somehow fit me into his spontaneous life.
The world changes, always moving, always circulating. Like him. Me? I remain the same person – the same person who gave her heart away and never received an answer.
One day, I'm on the cliff, the blustering winds shoving me toward the vast, uncharted part of the world. The unknown that one can never return from. Then I see him. And I smile.
Because even now, he's letting go, thrusting me into the dandelion tossed breeze.
