Listen up.

Like the wind, I don’t question that it’s there- I feel it against my face. It tousles my hair and brushes across my porcelain skin- just long enough to turn my cheeks pink. But it never stays. No, it remains just long enough to whisper in my ear- to remind me. It’s here and then there. At my side, then gone again. I turn, frantic, hands reaching, eyes searching, and I find nothing. I feel, I fear, I find- Nothing. When I seek, it hides. When I lay back, it returns. So, I sit cross-legged on the concrete, hands in my lap, yearning for that breathtaking gust to come back and sweep me away just one more time, silently wishing it would either stay or leave, cursing myself later for thinking such a thought. And I wait. Chasing has proved fruitless. I wait. I wait to be taken, tickled, tangled, touched. I wait for the sense of security that it brings…enclosing  me, encompassing me. I await the sense of trust I feel as it entangles me and hides me away from all else. A dependence. A dream. A drug. And I wait to lose my stomach yet again as it pushes against the chilled surface of my skin, bending me. It lifts my face, and departs. It skims my neck and vanishes. I wait for the thrill of that breeze to return. Even once. For it is the one thing that will keep me until tomorrow. It brings chills to my arms, a tingle to my spine, and wisps through the openings between my fingers. Painfully playfully. It slips into my lungs; I gasp, but never complain. For it dries my eyes and parches my tongue. It cools and disturbs me, habitually. But stirs a desire stronger than any other, a crippling compulsion. My want, my need fills me once more, takes me to the brink, and exits out the door.