Dandelion Words

Through my right eye, I can see the future, through my left, the past. 

If I close the left and look only through the right, I see myself sit here a thousand, thousand times, typing these words like seedling parachutes, that fly away and are lost in the hurricane howl of a million other voices.

If I close the right and look only through the left, I see all the other writers, a thousand, thousand others, releasing their stories and watching them disappear into the wind.

I see how sentimental these puffball thoughts really are.

When I open both, I am blind. There’s only now, only these words, these scruffy, ragged dandelion words. And so I take a breath. 

And blow.