with a book wide open in her hands
she aimlessly wanders ’till she finds
her perfect story
naive little girl, 16 years of age
drawing her prince in her torn, string-tied diary
etched into her heart, the beat-up pages
fixed with tape
twirling around in the valley of flowers
each step she takes creates a new footprint
on the unmarked ground
she never dares to follow her path back
for they have led her to failed fairy tales
picking flowers, she does not stretch for the
“does he love me love me not”s
but rather,
she reaches out for another dandelion;
another wish