Little Things

Wind

The wind is a jealous thing. She wants all and believes that all is hers. She drifts through the trees and buildings looking at all the things she can never have. She feels us breathing her in and she becomes a part of us. She relishes those moments, reluctant to let go. It's the only way she can be a part of our world and she wants that everyday. But there are places where the wind is content, yet to have felt the world we live in. And that part of her is calm and wishes for nothing but to gently drift amongst the trees. That is my favourite part about her. The part that is constantly jealous as she tries to take what's hers. She is envious of the clean parts of herself, not yet contaminated by our filthy bodies. On the days she wishes she was always like that part of herself, she will violently rip at us, trying to knock us down. I pity this part of the wind. I pity how she has become so much like us in her self loathing. That we have invaded this once pure element and turned it into an resentful, raging storm. The days that it pelts rain, I can feel her pain and agony. I can feel that she has lost touch with all parts of herself. That she is slipping. That she no longer remembers who she was before we invaded like parasites. I can't believe that we take her gift and touches for granted. Much like her, we have forgotten who she really was. We don't seem to care anymore, as we take so much more than we need. We no longer care that we have torn her apart. I can feel her, every time I breathe her in she leaves pieces of herself within me. I feel her and I weep with her harsh stinging wind. I wish I could help this jealous wind. I wish I could help her remember who she was before we came along.
I feel her everyday. Some days she is desperate to take back what belongs to her and she pulls and pulls but can never regain what I've stolen from her. Everywhere I go, she is someone different and she approaches me differently. In the city she is jealous and angry. That's when I feel her hatred towards this plague that has stolen pieces from her. She is cold, distant, and bitter biting against us as a futile effort to cut us down. When I go to remote places where she has had little contact with us, she is so disparate. She is my favourite thing about the wind. She is who you think about when people call upon her. She is curious, kind, and playful. When I step into her hidden domains I can feel her pull at my hair and caress me as if I'm the only parasite she has ever known. I let her stay with me until it's time to leave again, and I can feel her snake around me hesitant to let me go.
As life goes on I miss her. I miss her gentle touches and curious breezes. The pieces of her that are within me long to return to her. Not the cold and harsh part of her, but the gentle part. The part that she forgot existed, the part that is free of this consuming jealousy. When the wind grows weaker inside me, I go back to the distant parts of her domain. When I return she greets me with her kind whispers. I lean into her gentle arms and feel her steal the wind from my breath. I have finally joined her and sank into her happiness. I happily raced along, finally one with her. But in the corners of her, I can feel her possessiveness slowly seeping into this part of her. And I'm afraid that I will lose my beloved parts of her to the jealousy.