Dandelions I never really liked dandelions, but she did, so ultimately I was forced to buy tonnes of the things.

All the day long I would smell of those cheap imitations of spring. If someone ever asks you to smell a bunch of dandelions, I suggest you simply smile and oblige. My protest with dandelions is the absence of the realisation that they dont smell that good and they arent that pretty. However a delusion to the opposite is often the case. On her birthday I walked through our local park and picked her a bunch. It was raining, which thus only fuelled my disapproval of the poor smelling and averagely attractive plants. I held that bunch to her chest, brought her near, and kissed her. I remember that to be the only occasion I have liked the smell of dandelions. Its been too many days, weeks, months, and minutes, since Ive seen her. I dont know why I was so cold. specially as she was so warm. Her life is an elusive criminal to me. ver having left trails which Im forced to discover too late for them to be of any use in revealing where I may ne!t see her. "he made herself known to me, and then I went. I silently asked her to leave, and I did it without consciousness to the matter. I now draw breath in a laborious and harmful way, with to!ic smoke clinging to the o!ygen, supplied by my lit cigarette. "at by myself in my study. #his is a cold place. Im locked in, but I hold the key. I miss the smell of dandelions.