Doodles

When I close my eyes, I am able to create wind. The kind you can actually see and the kind that feels familiar, like a friend guiding you home. Lovely pinks and purples and reds with tiny hints of blue, the kind you'd only see in a painting or in a children's book. Sometimes I'd see little flakes of debris in the wind and I would even see small feathers produced by juvenile birds that shed their down, in which defines their ascension into adulthood. That's what I'm trying to do; shed my down, but I can't really think about that now, because I'm too focused on the wind. It's beautiful; what an understatement. It's blowing perfectly towards me so that my hair is brushed past my face, instead of annoyingly breathing on the back of my neck and pushing all my circley curls into my irises. I feel that maybe if I stare too long, those pinks, purples, reds, and hints of blues will burn themselves into my eyes, and they will be forever swirling around in my head. I wouldn't mind. Blowing away manifesting thoughts or any that I stored away somewhere throughout the recesses of my brain. Now all I can hear is a droning howl; the kind that makes you shut your windows or comment on how strong the wind is today in order to make small talk with some stranger that will most likely mean nothing to you or contribute to your life on a substantial spectrum. Become the wind- I'm trying, but I can't seem to ditch this shell of a body. Too heavy. I wish my bones were hollow, like a bird's. I know that I would caress any object I came across if I were the wind. I would swirl around it, defining its shapes and curves. It wouldn't matter what it was, for the wind isn't bias. Maybe someday I will become the wind. We all do eventually.