Tales of the Sleep Deprived

To The Wind

About a year ago, I took an interest in storms – particularly ones brought about by strong winds.

You see, the wind was always there. Some days I couldn't feel it and I would almost forget about its existence, then suddenly it would come back, stronger than ever.

And although I'd hear its voice every now and then, the wind never spoke to me, it never even actually cared about me. It ignored my presence most of the time, but I felt it still.

My interest in it grew, for it was a mystery. Some days, it would be calm. Other days, it would rage and leave destruction in its wake. It never hurt me though and I believed it was just a little misunderstood, needing patience and kindness.

One cold December night, I whispered to the wind a secret hoping that it will acknowledge me. And that's when it gave me a solid answer. Before I knew it, we had a connection — it became an unexpected friend.

Then came the unseen storm, nobody knew where it came from and of course, they continued to blame the wind. But I knew that it was innocent, placed in a life of force that it did not choose; that it could never actually hurt someone on purpose; that the storm wasn't its fault entirely. And the wind talked to me; the wind, who I never knew had a life beyond, bared its soul to me.

For the first time, it was the wind who needed me.

After that, it became my confidant. I would whisper all my secrets to it, let my tears be blown away, allowed it to place a warmth on my back every time the world became too heavy to carry. I let the wind know me, stripped myself of all the covers, and broke my walls down. I let it into my world and what once was quiet, was now filled with a voice that talked to me every day.

Everyone warned me that I was playing with a dangerous force, that it would only hurt and destroy me one day. That I shouldn't have welcomed it into my world, that everything I once knew would crumble into pieces, that its nature was nothing but destruction.

But they were wrong for I knew the wind was calm and kind and that it was there for me when nobody else was. It listened and accompanied me in my loneliest hours and that the wind didn't always make its presence felt, but it was there by my side at 4 AM when the world was silenced. That it was my comfort and support, and it never meant to hurt me on purpose.

My heart beat for the wind and my soul yearned for it. The world that I once had was gone and I put the wind in the center. I allowed it to become every day, I allowed it to become a ritual, a habit.

But I learned that the wind moves. It wasn't steady, I couldn't tame it. And before I realized, it was getting farther and farther away from me. I would call out to it and every now and then, it comes back, but it wasn't a force I could hold onto. There was no hand to grasp, no eyes to stare into, and no physicality to hug.

For the wind was more than just a physical attraction to me, the connection was too deep that even with a body, touch wasn't enough. And it continued to move and change; it wasn't always as calm as I thought, the wind truly was a force of destruction, and its nature was to hurt – even if it wasn't on purpose.

Don't get me wrong, the wind is still misunderstood. It was calm and beautiful and kind and loving and patient and understanding, but the wind also destroyed and hurt and raged and would lash out. The wind wasn't something I could have forever – it was something I could never own.

Finally, it was almost out of my sight when it came back and talked to me. It told me it didn't want to and didn't mean to hurt me, and I told him that I knew.

And to the wind, I apologize. As much as I am fascinated with you, I don't really need you because, in the end, I just confused you for air that brought the oxygen that I needed to breathe.

To the wind, I bid you farewell.