Love for the sun

There used to be a young man, larger than life.
There used to be a young woman, a year younger than he, feeling smaller than anything.
She used to be in love with him, he knew.
Was he in love with her? Maybe.
She was insecure and young. Made mistakes. Might have been a pain in his ass, but he never said anything.
He was corrupted, she seemed pure.
He left her.
She was overrun by life.
She changed.
The innocence left unprotected means death or worse.
Good and bad are relative.
The weeds are hard to kill.
She loves dandelions.
Her grandmother used to weed out dandelions mercilessly, they are yellow, a colour of whores, she used to say.
Her daughter had two children with a married man.
The young woman was her daughter´s daughter.
The young woman loves dandelions. They are like the sun to her and she loves the sun.
In time she accepted, that he and she is never going to be.
She learned to love him. Loves him like she loves the sun.
She changed.
Instead of breaking her, the world let her change.
You can not see, but she does not only have a backbone, but scythes growing from her bones and fire as her blood.
She found love, she became loved.
She now has a home.
She now has a view to a meadow of dandelions from her favourite window.
She loves weeds.
Everything has a place and value in this world.
She has found hers.
She grew larger than life.
Thanks to him.
Her sun.