The Wind


the sluggishness of the past week was colored by coffee shops, Bob Dylan, and writing one-sided love on the moon. comfort in lies she knew. her snug spilled milk sheets at noon. a song remaining in her mind. she was not a singer. but when she decided to sing, she bled Pocahontas colors of the wind. she escaped the sorrow that others rested upon her, a lacking of mutual awareness. she held the truth between her ticketed lips; love is not the jealously or entitlement that comes from a desperation for love in return. for her, one-sided love is fair. one-sided love is a warming lantern in a blizzard. it is her name announced with the promise of capability. the only danger she knew were thoughts of him falling too. this dizziness is how she napped into tempra paint at overpriced motels. removed at increments of a penny toss. she was in a dessert of dreams alone. and suddenly she was included in life again. she was invited to sit for a live painting course. existing in reality. a slight veneer on her cardigan. making friends on the metro. talking to them about the peanut butter and jelly phase of life and credit scores. hiking in a dress. braving her unspectacular voice for the sake of celebration. nibbling on Italian subs. laughing to remember the way she used to not laugh. turning through downtown. gazing at the shadows of dumpster divers discovering empty cigarette and cereal boxes. chatting with the security guard of an alley medical operation about tomorrows election. enjoying the city that continues to inspire. valuing warehouse windows and the clatter of mechanical equipment within. dancing near the electrical lines that clap the moonbeams. settling into a chair to stare for three hours. living the moments instead of recording them. allowing her mind to loop back on the day and retrace the isolated tilt of his face. she is forever a one-sided lover. and she is okay with her mind zigzagging reality. *for the time being

taxi lights blur my eyes. you never said goodbye. kiss my thigh. hold my sigh. just a moment, time will fly.

but how do i forget that night? how do i forget that night?

the wind blows. my soul slows. my eyes close. and he knows why.

but how do i forget that night? how do i forget that night?

the wind blows. my soul slows. my eyes close. and he knows why.


Mute Style

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