Poppy – you are. My field of wild poppies…

You are my poppy. Even though I called you sunshine every morning, you were never my sunflower… As a matter of fact, you are my field of wild poppies… Red, bright, swaying in the wind, sun and rain… never to be picked, never to be mine…

I must be careful as you can become my drug. My poppy drug, my never reachable, almost unreal drug…

I must pay attention to my line of thoughts. You are my illogical line of thoughts. You are my field of poppies which, through the direct view (as I look at you) impacts me as a whole….impacts me and beyond…

I want you to stay.

beautiful_poppy_field-t2

As a field of wild poppies. As a possibility to be my drug yet to never reach that stage.

I want to wake up and call you my sunshine yet to have you much more fragile than the never ending sun…

 

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