I would fall asleep always if only dreams could be promised

We+wish+on+the+flowers+decay.+We+wish+for+better+days.+

NSU MON

We wish on the flowers decay. We wish for better days.

Living in an endless summer dream, I awake to the soft, angelic glow of the sun cascading in through my window and draping my muted white comforter with golden brilliance. My eyelashes flutter like a butterfly with strikingly bright wings against a pure azure colored sky. 

There are only so many ways this utterly predictable yet never disappointing day could go. I will examine the murky green of the lake, or I will endlessly debate my willingness to sacrifice the warm touch of light for the sharp jolt of chlorine known as my pool. 

Maybe I will feel the compassion of your presence beside me as I construct my inconsequential dilemmas. Maybe we’ll drive around these two towns. We somehow managed to make our home in the process of growing up here. I would spend endless hours embracing you in this home or the next, but your ever-present schedule is a little troubling. 

And so I wish away my time on the decay of dandelions. Wishing on them all the time, wondering when you’ll be mine. How long has it been? How long will it be? 

I wish away my time on the decay of dandelions. Wishing on them all the time, wondering when you’ll be mine.”

I walk along the newly refurbished road dedicated to my safety wondering who might be passing me but not caring what they think. My eyes land on the small homely place of comfort. It’s filled with over thirty flavors run by people no older than us. I have been here before. 

I can feel the days slipping through my fingers like the satin material of the dresses I can only wear this time of year. I can feel the wind brushing up against my bare legs as I walk; rather than push me down, the wind gently forces me forward. I need to make it last. How do I make it last?

I am barefoot now and playing in the textured greenery known as my backyard. I ponder the last time I was here. I can feel the spirits of our younger selves lingering in this very spot. They claim they own it because they were here first, and you can’t argue with the simplistic logic of a fifth-grader. 

A pause on the timeline in life when we used our time wisely rather than wishing it away on the decay of beautiful sunshine yellow flowers. It’s much much like the sunshine I pray will one day pour through my window, demanding I open my butterfly-like lashes once more. I want to live in my endless summer dream.