I have fallen through my one memory of you
too many times to count.
Hitting the sheets, soft like lilacs and dandelions
each Sunday morning.
And you were so strong,
picking me up like a grain of pollen,
tossing me into the air where I was weightless;
where I would find myself still, years later,
unable to gain the momentum to touch ground
and become something, anything—
a lilac, a dandelion, a wish, a weed

written: unknown – likely 1999 – 2001








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