A little white fluff on a green stem.
The green stem blends with the surrounding grass.
When I wanted my dreams to come true my eight year old breath would blow the white fluff.
The sun would make the flurries sparkle and dance in the summer breeze.
It truly was magical.
I believed in fairies and wizards.
I remember the day my uncle got upset because I blew magic all over his perfectly green lawn.
My uncle informed me that apparently the fluff was a ****
not magic at all.
There is an innocence to not knowing.
The part of me that believed in magic and princesses disappeared.
I guess people have two choices in life
They can see a ****
Or they can see
magic.