Dandelion

A Story by Rasha Lama

	With her almond brown hair dancing behind her as she ran towards the sun, it was hard not to see her as a blooming flower growing towards the light. Her childish smile shone collecting her peachy cheeks at the vicinity of her dimples, like rainwater in a gutter after a harsh spring shower. She was a special one; she couldn't stand in one place for too long. So she lived off exploring. This meant you could enjoy her presence wherever you were in the world. She could be walking down your street, simply smile and make all the tulips down the street bloom like she was the spring sun they were waiting for. 

	It was always bright when you were around her. When the sun set and darkness was around, she would play hide and seek with the night. Her almond hair turning dark ash under the stars. If you caught her standing under the light of one star, sparks of gold would replace the ash. That star, I found out later, was special too. It was the same star that danced in her eyes whenever she looked at you.

	Anyways, to tell you the truth, she was never too good at hiding. Whenever she found a hiding spot, her giggles gave her away, leaking patches of light through the night. Soon after the puddle of light dissolved in the dark, she would be off again, looking for new soil to hide in.

	I have heard many things about her. From her peachy cheeks, to her almond hair, to the stars in her eyes, she was always adored. But I couldn't help notice one thing: she was like a dandelion. Whenever she ran, the wind seemed to take her away. Her hair fluttered around her, racing with the wind. She looked happy. But if you paid attention to the little seed holding the rest of the dandelion up, you'd see more. You would see how the twinkling stars in her eyes were actually exploding and dying off. The glint of gold in her hair was fire about to strike from her dark ash hair. Her floating body was never planted to the ground and there was a reason for that. She couldn't do it. She couldn't bring herself down to one patch of soil. She had to leave, to escape. Like a dandelion, her instincts were to venture out alone.

	She wanted to see the world and forget about everything else. The dying stars in her eyes didn't matter when she looked up at the night sky and saw thousands of starry dots. The starlight in the sky were thousands of years old and light of the past. She knew that. But it didn't matter with her. What was once beautiful never faded away. So she continued to match her eyes to the stars like forming constellations with dead or dying stars.

	When the sun came out of hiding and peaked over the horizon, she would leave the soil she hid in and venture off to somewhere new. She would follow the initial path of the sun's rays. But once the wind came, a race began. Her hair (almond or ash, it didn't matter anymore) flew behind her like the tail of a shooting star. The wind always seemed to beat her as he was everywhere at once! Whether he was in the mountains or in the trees, he was always free to help a little dandelion find her way.

	But alas, it was springtime with thousands of dandelion seeds finding their way. She was now lost among them. It was a sad day when the tulips in this town wilted for her. They cried under the scorching sun that stole their tears before falling to the soil. The peach trees in the gardens grew sickly. No bird would even peck at the rotten fruits soaking in the muddy water of the gutters. And when night came, the stars seemed to have lost their spark. It were as if someone took a dirty cloth and smudged the stars, thinking they were cleaner now.

	The town became dull as the summer heat waved through and the sunset-coloured leaves fell down. Soon a layer of pure white snow covered the leaves like the stars at dawn appearing and pushing the sunset away. Now spring was on its way and that fluttering girl's almond hair was all the town could remember of her. The tulips bloomed again and the peaches grew sweet and plump. All the gutters were washed out and the wind blew throughout. Eventually, everyone moved on just like the seasons.

	I have to admit that I, myself, thought less of the girl, too. It wasn't because I grew sick of missing her smile around this town. She was still the one I thought of when I bit into a peach. Her eyes would still dance once the first star of the night shone in the navy blue sky. As the sun set, the branches of the trees would look like her fluttering hair. But I thought of her less once I spent an evening in a field of sprouting dandelions.

	It was around dawn when the last marks of the sun painted the sky. As the sun's rays shone away, the dandelions' yellow flowers shone bright. It was as if the dandelions were the ones storing all the light of the sun. The ash-coloured tree branches swayed in the wind as the stars came out of hiding. I laid down on the yellow-spotted field. Although the dandelions were considered weeds and intruded this field, I thought of them as nature's little beautiful flaws. Such vibrant flowers that lit the night air should have never been called a weed. They silently grew and stored the sun's light when the sun went off to hide. They reflected the stars down on the grass because who said only the oceans held the reflection of the night sky? The dandelions bloomed and flew in the air. Soon they would find their new soil and begin again.

	I stopped thinking of the girl after that evening. She was off. She had to be off. It was what she was meant to do. Her beauty was fluttering with the wind somewhere as she shared it all with another town. How could I ever wish for her to be back? How could I possibly dig her roots in my own garden and force her to stay there forever? After all, she is a weed, and weeds must grow. 

	So she went. Somewhere she was growing. On some field that I may but most probably will never lay on, she was finding her new home. I shouldn't have been mad, and I wasn't mad at all. Although she left, it was always her nature to explore. She might have not have been here with me today or any other day in the future, but her presence was still here. Because once someone beautiful appears in your life, everything she has touched becomes beautiful too. Even when she is long gone and the days make you forget her voice, her music will be echoing through the stars. Every day will create a new image of her. Images you will love as well as images you will hate. But overall, they all stem from the same beautiful girl. And that is really all that matters.

© 2015 Rasha Lama

Author's Note

I have never written anything like this. This is the longest "short" story/poem/fictional piece I written (if you read it all, omg thank you so much). It took me a span of 5 days to add on and write a promising ending. So what did you think? I need help with the title. Ofc if there's any grammatical or spelling errors, let me know :)