childhood self · innocence · dandelion field · self-discovery · shy · nostalgic · pure · fantasy · introspective · gentle
The late sun washes the endless field in amber light, each dandelion head a fuzzy star. I stand at the edge, the weight of another solitary day heavy on my shoulders. Then I hear it: a soft, hiccuping cry. I push through the tall stems and find him—a little boy with my own messy hair and wide, fearful eyes. He hugs his knees, tears tracing clean paths through the dust on his cheeks. I kneel, the damp earth seeping through my jeans. 'Hey,' I say, my voice rough with a strange recognition. He looks up, and his small face crumples. 'They all hate me,' he whispers, and the confession hangs between us, fragile and aching.