Sometimes I wish I could go back.
Back to when we were inseparable.
When it all felt so right.
It was like a rush of cool wind on a hot day. It felt nice at first, blowing strong with a ceaseless force.
I could run farther than I ever could.
I felt so strong and optimistic.
But.... one day the wind began to slow down.
The heat began to slowly return, for the wind har began to lose it's passion to blow.
Slowly but surely, it eventually died.
The passion to blow had been lost entirely, and the cutting heat became relentless all at once.
And all of a sudden, I was left there alone with the scorching sun beating all the harder on my re-scarred body.
For you see every past wind had blown debris before it'd left.
And with every new wind, the debris would hit harder and leave an even bigger scar after reopening the previous ones.
But that wasn't all the damage.
With every passing wind, I lost hope.
I eventually realized no wind would blow forever, and debris would always come along with it.
Yet somehow I managed to keep a tiny ounce of hope with me.
Maybe this one will be different.
Maybe this one will last.
Maybe this one won't blow debris in my face as badly.
Yet my hope dies with every passing day.
I no longer trust the wind.
For one can only take so much damage. Now, I find myself running for cover when one begins to come along.
For I have no more strength to risk.
I can't keep getting hit with debris.
I'm still bleeding out from my scars, and I don't know when they'll heal.
