You Are Like Dandelions In The Wind At My Field.
She didn’t save me from drowning, and I didn’t save her either. We weren’t saviors—we were just two pieces of a shattered mirror, reflecting the same pain in different ways. We held hands, dove headfirst into the deep end, and taught each other how to swim.
I can say that we were like a dandelion caught in the wind, scattering fragments of ourselves into the air, unsure where they’d land. But in each fragment, there was a piece of home—a reminder that we never needed to face the storm alone.
Her voice was the lighthouse,
when the sea was black and wild.
Her silence, a warm blanket,
when the world grew loud and vile.
She brought peace I didn’t know I needed, a calm river beneath the surface of my chaos.
I’ll never have to question her friendship, and that brings me more peace than she’ll ever know. We were a symphony falling silent mid-note, only to find harmony in the quiet. And maybe, that’s what love looks like—not saving each other, but holding on tightly when the waves come crashing down. And even now, when the tides have settled, I look back and realize that we weren’t trying to be whole—we were just trying to stay afloat, together.
And that was enough.
