Dandelions

It is rare to find me without a book at the ready. My reading gene came from my grandma. There’s not much I love more than rainy days that present themselves with the task of finishing a good book. Since I started traveling I have been reading much more. It is interesting to me that the more you read, the less words you need, yet the more authentic in your experiences you become. Perhaps that’s just my personal experience. Words somehow have greater value when they present themselves to a four hundred page novel. Every word well placed, read through, and thought after. Grandma says that it is good to exercise both your near and your far sighted vision. I know at the time she meant this literally as we were discussing reading and engrossing ourselves in others lives for long periods of time, but I took it metaphorically. And how wise that is.

When I was little I told my grandma my favorite flower was a dandelion. She told me: “mads, that is a great flower to be your favorite because it is actually a weed. But isn’t it cool how a weed can be so beautiful?”

Usually when I think of love, I have many mixed feelings. Like I’m a soda can that someone picked up and shook like we were told we weren’t supposed to do when we were young; all fizzed and carbonated. And in that moment when I see someone I love, love so so hard, I want to punch a wall, sing, and cry all at once. Like my heart is unable to communicate with my body so it’s just going off of glitchy radio waves.

One of the books I recently finished had a poem inside the cover by Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi, a Persian poet and Islamic scholar: “come on sweetheart let’s adore one another before there is no more of you and me”. I don’t ever want to live without cherishing.