As a child, I used to gaze at the skies,

mesmerized by the swaying milkweeds in the wind.

I would stand there, marveling at their beauty,

with no intention of chasing them.

My eyes would sparkle, akin to the silky strands of the milkweed,

reflecting the golden glow of the magical hour.

I would feel a sense of joy and stillness envelop me as

I stood amidst the motion of the milkweeds,

swaying and dancing gracefully in the silent symphony of the wind.

But as I grew up, those memories faded,

much like the strands of the milkweed being

torn apart by long harsh winds,

which once allowed it to dance to the tunes of nature.

I had forgotten the freedom and lightness that the milkweed once enjoyed,

the ability to dance to the music of the heart.

To not have a destination yet to be always on a cruise.

And to never be anchored.