#Girliyapa - The Period Song - #AgentPink #ShrutiMadan

            Alek is a free man. His house goes everywhere he wants to go. Small and cozy, smelling like himself, smelling like his things, smelling like home. For home is not made only of people, but of things too- and sometimes things others left behind. The trailer, the library, each of the books- from the stains in the carpet to the small empty refrigerator- it’s all him.

            He remembers, though, when his home was made of people and his father spilled that tea on the floor and laughed, claiming that he couldn’t cook and yet no one ever made a black tea as good as his. Alek remembers his family, he remembers the smell of flowers that appeared from nowhere on the table- changing from country to country, spring to spring-, the light of down in calligraphy books, ruffles on his hair, he remembers the kind words and the stopping in middle of the road to see stars- he remembers being a scared but amazed child learning how to love things.

            He’s thankful and he learned well. He loves the books, he loves the knowledge- and the people too. Because books are people made into dreams. He knows he has to share them, dreams in pages of dust- in English, German, Dutch and Swedish. In a thousand languages their love to the world. His love.

            He is a free man, he can go places so far that no road could take you. He understands people, even when too much empathy can hurt. He can close his eyes and fly, touch, love the impossible. So much that he, sometimes, is a prisoner of himself.