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Cup 16: Dandelion


I spent many lifetimes as a dandelion.


I was a bouquet in the hand of a child, offered to his first beloved.


When I became grey, a young woman blew my hair to the wind with a wish, and I floated to a street in the great city. 


Between blocks of concrete I slept, gritty ash my blanket, until rain awakened me in my stony prison.


Perhaps you have been a dandelion. Do you remember how the earth drew your roots to her, how the sun encouraged your face to rise? 


Do you remember how you broke through?

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