Those Who Walk Alone At Night

Chapter Five- The Lost. (Clouds Are Fields of Floating Dandelions.)

Fanta dwelled with a strangely aching heart, more ghost than person, more flower than ghost. They were not lost, not really. There were thousands of hundreds of things they could do to find some flash of familiarity in the hot spring night, to find the proof that somewhere a world outside of this dandelion field existed- but they didn't. They never had, and never would.

It wasn't about taking the road less travelled, they just had a tendency to get lost in thoughts and wander to places one should not wander. The first time it mattered hadn't been the first time, nor the last, that they had forgotten where they were meant to be, but it was the time they met someone who looked lonely and realized they have looked too long into human eyes.

They didn't mean to do it after that, but somehow they'd messed up. Went the wrong way. What they thought was right wasn't, maybe they'd went left too many times. Maybe they should've turned back when everything started looking unfamiliar, scary. They hadn't though. They'd kept going and now they don't know where, or who they were. Fiction became reality and reality grew into something that was scoffed at.

They didn't long for their old life back and held faith in the belief that maybe when something stops, something else inside can be heard, for we all have fields on our minds. Fields unexplored, unending. Each one of them gets lost in the field, every night, alone, and meanwhile, everything else is so small that thoughts seem vast.

The night throbs in their veins sometimes and they never knew what to do with the energy, unable and unwilling to kill or cry like the others, so they plucked strands of grass and magic weeds. In the world, there are dandelions and all the wishes they carry in air. Sent by longing lips and the soft blows, they rise into the sky and become invisible to one's eye. It's unknown to those who send them where they'll land, but whenever one crosses their path outside of fields and nights, they lean forward and hear it whisper what it has been told to fetch, and they weave spells and plants together to grant the best ones.

Something about the field they sit in makes them think that the dandelion's don't go far, or do go far but then return, because everything else they have ever seen be lost has found its way back home (hearts, books, not so much lives, but spirits). It makes them wonder if they had been a dandelion in their past life who had lost the chance to come home and was making up for it now, spending the night quietly in this field and doing everything they can to make wishes come true without moving.

Yes, they were lost now, but they were comfortable with that. They could not help but address their thoughts to those who looked lonely; do not go out and look for me. Just stay. Stay and wait for me, and I will find my way back before the sun rises, and my arms will be full of granted wishes.