I climbed that tree to see the world;
my thoughts are like the dandelions.
they're there when the wind isn't.
but when the wind comes, they're scattered.
a million pieces everywhere, flying.
& they say the ones that stay are the ones that will never leave.
Like me, missing you.
If I were to pick one stalk out,
use my own breath to gently blow on it,
will you be blown out of my thoughts as well?