The Air Between My White Dress And Dandelions

How sweet the wind was as it flew onto the grasses. Like fingers twisting the strands of my hair, like whispers dancing on the skin of my body, a beautiful feeling I fear nothing else could compare. Whether in blistering summers, flowering springs, icing winters and briskly autumn, the sensation was a gift that only someone as young as I could feel amongst both land and sky. 

Each morning, in the closet sided to my bed, laid my white dress on a wooden hanger. Decorated with passions of lace and feminine daintiness, it was a staple. When the sun shined against my pleated window, a clock would chime in the rings of my head, and I’d jump up and pull it over until fitted. Then, i’d run out the rusted door, and chase the fields of dandelions that spread acres around. 

Barefoot and young, not afraid of dirt and grime, i’d run and play and dance in the presence of the dandelions. I shouted, I sang, I laughed and I cried. I fell, I jumped, I skipped and I raced. All that I could do, with my feeble feet and arms, were all done in one singular moment. 

And when I stopped, it’s because I knew what would come. I held my legs together, I raised up my hands-and finally it came! Oh, that sweet feeling, that beautiful, heart-blooming feeling! The air, the wind and the pure happiness that came with it. It was so incredibly rich, I might as well have been the king. 

I brought my arms around and hugged myself. It was too good to be true, my excitement has nearly left me lightheaded. I felt the breeze underneath me, how it lifted my white dress, and let the stems of the dandelions hit my legs. To be this young, to

be so free, to have such a euphoric, loving feeling, felt as though it was bound to happen forever.

20 years have passed, and I look to the field from my now rotting steps. The dandelions have died, and now only grow as weeds. My white dress, the one I’d wear from morning to night, has gone dirty and brown. And the air, the once esquite air, now brushes my skin, with only the slight memory of young innocence.