In twilight's grip, where whispers dance
A scarlet sigh escapes the hands of fate.
Dandelions scattered like promises unkept,
Their yellow crowns wilt under truth’s piercing gaze.
Love—a tempest of tangled threads,
Stitches of joy woven macabre in the dark.
Each seed, a heart adrift on streets of wind,
Yearning for soil that knows none of this longing.
The ugliest truth... that we bloom only to fade.
Let nostalgia kiss the petals of the future,
Not every promise can be a moonlit serenade.
Yet, in the dance of their unknown fates,
Lies a beauty unclaimed, unashamed.
Would you follow the dandelion's path?
Perhaps to forgotten fields or the edge of light,
where truths whisper sweetly through the twilight's haze.