I remember...
A small table, stranded withing edges and borders, a simple table, of faded slats and discolored memories I surely could have grown up through.
...but I chose otherwise.
When I was young, when I was young, I remembered dandelions, a change from a state of innocence and permeabiity, a state of neither here nor there, to a true dandelion, vulnerable... anyone could pick you and spread you to the wind.
Just how many times did I make this mistake?
I'll never know, having spread the rest of me, rest of me to the wind.
