I love how you touch me with those soft hands. The way you whisper to me. The way you're close to me. I love the way you dance around me and touch all in your path so sensually - your fingers interlace with leaves of the bushes by the sidewalk and with my skirt as I walk beside you. I love to watch the way you get angry from a distance because of the way you tear everything apart, from the parts of houses and the roots of trees to the leaves and bushes too. I love the way how softly you play with my children's hair and how they giggle when you do. How beautiful you are. How everybody from the people and the Earth love you. I envy you sometimes, my eternal love, for you belong to everyone and everything, yet I may only taste a part of you.
I hate the dry places where the heat makes me uncomfortable and when you are nowhere to be seen. I hate the indoors when I could be outside, trying to find you. But I've finally learned that you will come only when you wish to, and once you do, I will be able to interlace my fingers with yours once more as we travel side by side. You will tell me the silliest of things and I will giggle and still be in awe of your touch and tenderness. How can you be so soft and gentle yet so strong and rough? How can you simultaneously be so merciful and full of wrath?
But you belong to no one, my love, and this is what saddens me. For don't you love me? Don't you need my touch? Don't you ask for me when you are stroking others?
No, no. For you are, quite literally, wind. Never, ever. For you are wind. You never had a soul. It is a curse and a blessing you exist, my love, and how you bring rain and make the accumulated clouds drift away when it is their time. You bring darkness. You bring light. I would die without your existance. But you're in the distance somewhere, coming only when it is your due time. But why, oh why is this so? And when are you returning? Today or tomorrow? Shall I bury my head in my pillow and count the days? Or shall I give up now searching for your silent soul?
YOU ARE READING
Thoughts.
Short StoryThoughts of everyday, perhaps to spark your curiosity, or perhaps to lead you to another story.
