I'm weird like that, loving to feel his heartbeat.
Stale wind -- the kind that is so cold it rips at your bones and pulls you under, leaving you gasping for breath -- crushed itself into my lungs. of course I coughed, knowing that I'd never taste this frigid air again.
It slightly saddened me, but I knew I'd get over it, with time. everything heals after time, they say, but this . . . I don't even think God could heal this.
The wind grasped my face with such a harshness I had to pull back; a touch once so gentle -- could it really turn so misleading? Of course, just like all lovers, everything's so misleading. But I hesitated pulling back, for it was the last time. The last time the wind would brush my face and I'd feel it's fingers.
And it makes me wonder: could I die from it? Most likely, but I'm not sure I'm worried about it. I mean, what's dying if the one existence you live for isn't even there anymore? The point is, I need you in my life and I'm as lost as Lucifer in H-ll. And I'd beg someone to save me, but like I said, God couldn't even touch this cracked soul.
Again, I notice the wind; it brushes past my face, once again gentle, and I marvel at how beautiful it really is this time. I'd miss it's quiet gestures, I would.
Abruptly, the wind was harsh again, not really wind anymore but a tornado shaking my soul. It interrupted my body and as I careened downward, and suddenly, I felt like I was flying. It was a curious emotion, testing the waters that science couldn't even break though.
I thought to myself: falling really does feel like flying.