the boundaries of the sunflowers
—
before I had become acquainted with a world outside of my childhood,
I lived in a reality that pursued no boundaries, a world that was completely my own to delineate.
I'd spend my days in the field near my home where the sunflowers grew in an abundance and stirred delicately when a breeze spilled over the day.
I soaked up the sun's warmth like a sponge does a soapy water solution, and it got to the point where the sun was my very own life support machine.
I'd never pick any of the flowers that bloomed, I couldn't bare to subject them to such a programmed death, but if I was lucky, I would come across one with wilting petals that could easily be collected, and sometimes I couldn't stop myself from plucking the ones that fit in my hand so nicely.
I chose to use the corpse of these flowers instead of bows to decorate my golden mane.