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?