Gust

Week 6: Written February 11, 2016

I’m a breeze.

I’ve never slept, getting pulled by an invisible force and drawn constantly in seemingly random directions. Though I want to stop, I can’t. I can only, at unexpectedly divine moments, soften, a temporary reprieve from the chaos.

I’m never in one place long enough to appreciate it, always blowing through in a breath. The glimpses I catch are beautiful enough to make me dream of one day visiting again. The world is full of breezes, though, always pushing one another out of the way, and we never get to touch the same spot twice.

If I seem cold, it’s only because, in those fleeting moments, I take a little warmth from my favorite places with me, a reminder that home isn’t just an urban legend.

I don’t remember when I was born, or even if I was born, but I know I won’t die. Wind can’t die, not permanently. We just move on, which may sound strange, because we’re never allowed an experience to move on from. It’s a life of endless, hazy nostalgia, and memories made of flash frames and colored lines.

And exhaustion, because I never sleep. I can’t sleep. I’m a breeze.