WIND

The wind is blowing, but in which direction it blows, it is getting more robust, and the leaves are shaking, trying desperately not to fall from their loving home, better known as the weeping willow tree. The wind continues to blow, yet there is no known storm brewing. Can it be that the leaves want to take a break from hanging on a branch and blow around free?

The wind and the leaves, who are the rebel stormtroopers? What mission do they both seek to accomplish on a warm but not summer day?

I look outside this window, unable to move, only able to touch the pane. These words, which I carefully write day and night, have become my best friend and lover, somewhat like my salvation, my survival guide for all the things that I speak of but continue to hide.

Like the wind and leaves hanging onto those shaking branches for dear life, I want to cry and live this life that is finally full and not just survive. I am both of them, the wind and the leaves blowing into a new day