Sketch

Let me take my memories of you and shape them into a dandelion. On this stalk then, I shall place each and every moment we have shared, as a feathered bud waiting for the wind. One is for when you are lying on my shoulder snoozing gently; one is for when I am sleeping and I wake to know you are watching over me; one is for the entwined hands under the table.

These I place into the core, and many others besides; for the times we have spent together are long and the words we have said, many. But there are more: this is a rose I did not give, this is a word I did not say. This is a me I dared not set free.

I will let the wind tear apart the dandelion of our moments, take each and every seed and plant them as buds in others’ hearts. Perhaps they will be touched by the times we have shared, and be comforted. Perhaps they may laugh; perhaps they may sigh.

Yet with these seeds goes my wish that you will be happy no matter what you choose. I hold the delicate stalk of the dandelion, watch it sway in the air, where the joyful abandon of the winds will take all my memories to better places and I will listen to the whispering of the wind just like my fingers have whispered my words into the silk of your skin.

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