The Wind

Sometimes it is hard to breathe. The weight of life can burn our lungs and squeeze our hearts until they are completely crushed.

The only thing that has been keeping my heart from failing lately is the wind, the breeze that makes me think of home, of the friends I left behind, of the ocean I haven’t touched in months, and of the joy I used to feel unconditionally, which has now faded, leaving space for the emptiness that fills my heart.

The wind is not always enough, because my heart is getting colder and colder. The warmth of those around me is no longer enough.

My heart is already broken, there is no glue that can fix it, no transplant that would work.

Sometimes sitting on the grass and breathing is not enough.

New friends are not enough. The emptiness I feel is so deep that it pierces my skin, drains my blood, erodes my bones, and creates a hole inside me, as big as the longing I feel for the person I used to be, for the spontaneous smile I once carried.

I don’t recognize myself. The wind is not enough, and the person I used to be no longer exists. What I am now feels insignificant. I don’t matter to anyone, and I don’t understand my own existence.

The only real thing in me is the tears running down my face.

The last drops represent my final breath, and that is how I disappear, like the wind that once touched the cheeks of those who once loved me, whom I loved, and the person I used to be.

End.