Her Chicken Scratch / Poetry

Hand in Hand

I fear for the day when the wind decides to rip my soul from my delicate body for its travels. Though I’m afraid it’ll partially be my fault. I’ll allow it. I’ll allow myself to tear off from my body like velcro on a pair of shoes. It won’t be an easy thing. All my ties will come undone. The friendship and bonds that I had made will dissolve and the only thing left of me will be a memory. A small, bitter memory that people will choose not to think about because it’s easier. My mother won’t say her daughter willing let herself be fused to the wind. The same wind that carried her favourite scent of lavender in her garden. And my father won’t tell his co-workers his daughter abandoned him, to sway with the earth’s rotation. No, they don’t have a daughter. They had one, but that’ll be the last of any memories. I know the wind will come with warnings of thunder and lighting, but I’ll be too caught off guard to venture deep into the grey woods – and I’ll be to curious to beg it. But maybe I’m just making up excuses. I heard that when the wind claims you as its own it feel’s like good hug. One of those hugs that make you melt – then a heavy snap, and I’ll be gone. Timeless, and no pain. I’ll be Hand in hand with the wind as it whirls around our earth. I’ll get to see everything I ever wanted, but it’ll be by force, regardless of my plea’s for being sorrowful to make it stop. I’ll get to see the golden sunrises and the crystal waters. I’ll get to see talking trees and walking butterflies. I’ll be filled with hidden secrets that can’t be uttered, and everywhere will be my home. Everywhere. The North and the South, West and the East. I’ll be hand in hand with the wind. Written by Alecia Writes

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