It's Just the Wind

Text within this block will maintain its original spacing when publishedI exist e v e r y w h e r ebut at the same time,I am nothing.A ghost with unfinished business;a bleeding heart with too much hemorrhaging.Others are not responsible for my happiness,yet I continue to reach for them in the stars.Their lives flash by and I am but a speck of dirt on their window—to be washed away by the rain.The passion I pour onto a page is muddy water.It is no more important than the speck on the window,yet the pool of mud delves deep into the earth,deep into the life-giving center of everything.And as time passes, the trees blur by the window,and I become a tree only to blur past.AnotheranotheranotheranotheranotheranotheranotheranotherI've become a storm,howling and knocking people off their feet.Yet I am invisible and my yelling is merely nature;temporary.It's nothing more than the wind.