Whitened by aged wisdom and wonder, you reminded me a lot of a dandelion: I’d see you here and there, a thing so full of mystery, only to be blown away into the next moment where our paths would cross once again.
Whether it were days, months, or years, I knew we’d see each other again.
A spirit so strong that it frightened my youthful being grew to be one that I held brought me to my knees in adoration. You taught me how to be loud, how scream at my timidness and make it cower in fear. You taught me that words are so much more than ink on paper, that they breathe, they are alive. You taught me how to command a room, that I deserve to be heard, and that, like nature, all I needed to thrive was a light.
You see, I’ve always took Dandelions for granted, because I knew that I would see them again one day, and then, there would always be another chance to make one more wish.
If I had known that our time would have been cut short, I would have made a wish for you.
My hands will plant what you gave me, your wisdom will grow a dandelion.
I will pluck you from the earth, I will let your love glide through the air, and I will make sure it spreads to every corner of the world.