I suppose I put the dandelion with the pretty flowers because I assumed that it was like me: I figured it wanted to at least pretend that it was beautiful too, and perfect like they are. I made my wish on it and then laid it, spent, with the wild purple flowers that grow next to my house. That was all I knew how to do; I've only ever known so much. That's what everyone seems to tell me, over and over again. I'm so silly.
I like to think that I am completely impenetrable, but I am just as transparent as everyone else. I know you saw it, but you never told me. You wanted to spare me. Maybe you should have told me, and forsaken my feelings. Maybe it would have saved me some of the skin off my back. I always wanted to be those purple flowers, and I would try any means to get myself there, but I never quite reached. I instead blended in with all the other weeds. I was nothing like you, the wildflower everyone wanted to pick but didn't dare to. You were so perfect... you still are. That's why I loved you so much. I felt like I knew everything I could about you, that I knew you so well.
I really felt that I knew you... and that I could love you.
I'm so silly. I know that's what you're thinking, and I don't blame you. Somehow I manage to turn everything around so that it's all about me — It's one of my charming talents, you said. That, and my facade: how I can always pretend I'm so happy, laughing and chatting, when really I'm just listening to myself rot inside and wondering when it will begin to show.
You tried to tell me it was all in my mind. I tried to believe you. Even now that you've gone from my life, I just assume that like before, you know everything that's going on. My wildflower. You were so cool, calm, and collected... but at the same time you radiated wilderness and psychoticness. Everything you tried to tell me about myself is bouncing around inside me, so I sit here listening to mindless music, hoping to drown out the words. I'm too afraid to listen to you anymore; one more comfort taken away. I feel like the dandelion at the end of the summer when the time of the weeds has passed.. I know that my demise is imminent. It's ceased to be frightening (or so I like to think). Another transparency.
And there's another thing I have in common with the dandelion. After their flower has turned to seeds that are eventually blown off by the wind, you can see right through it. I guess my flower is my soul, and I know that you of all people could see through it. I'm still waiting for my knight in shining armor to sweep me off my feet in a white wedding dress, and take me off to happily ever after. I guess that makes me the sheer fool that I am. I still hope, after all this, that I can become a wildflower and finally be enough.
I keep hoping that you're that knight in shining armor and that you're willing to do it, to sweep me off my feet forever. I'm so silly.
