Wish Flowers

Morning.

The sun ray peeks into the small hole of my decade old wooden window. It cuts through the dominating darkness in my room. I stare at the lining it makes — with visible dust dancing within, creating a spotlight-like strike leading my eyes to the end — at the bedside table, where it illuminates a couple of dandelions kept in a jar.

It was kept.

For a long time.

Sealed with wishful promises.

As I remember him,

I close my eyes and dream just once again; a mindless dream.

You and me.

The hills.

A promise.

A kiss.

Our hands.

Intertwined.

The sunrise.

The warmth.

It's calming.

Feel it a little bit longer.

It's striking.

Burning.

Leaving red spots on my close eye sight.

And I open my eyes —

"Goodmorning! Time to wake up!"

That was... A dream.