you told me you loved me in the parking lot of a 7/11. you studied the cracks in your fingernails as your lips stumbled over the words. i picked at the dandelions that grew in between the spaces on the curb and wondered why anything would chose to live in a soil of cigarette butts and broken glass. that day you told me that dandelions were your favourite; beautiful because they had no idea that they weren't supposed to grow there. they were oblivious to their lack of belonging, and yet even in the most unlikely of places, they wouldn't let their beauty be shut out.

that day you crowned me your dandelion princess, and with my crown of weeds I reigned over our broken glass kingdom.