5I roll over, the grass itching my exposed skin,
And snap a daffodil from her garden.
The scent of new beginnings makes my head spin in protest.
The wind makes a dandelion explode
And spells out hope from the seeds,
Blowing in seven different directions.
My thoughts swirl out in wispy, white coils
And leave me to try to find you; this time
Maybe you'll be alone.
I jot memories onto the backs of receipts
And post-it notes that no longer stick.
I trace the things you said to me on my skin,
Trying hard to fight the urge to let the point dig deeper.
A shift of direction with the breeze,
But I wind the grass tighter in my fingers.
Fighting all sense and fact, I refuse to let go.
Living in a world of fiction,
I'll pretend like your words could be written for me.
A/N: I'm thinking of changing the last lines to:
"Living in a world of fiction,
I'll pretend like your poetry, always better than mine,
Could be for me."
Suggestions?