Feeling is Not Just Seeing

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

I leave the interpretation of the breeze to each individual. However, I relate to as anything in life that we attach meaning too.

I can feel the breeze coming; it is mystical in the way as it can only be felt by the skin.  There it was, I reach out opening the palm of my hand as the breeze gently skips over the tips of my fingers as it wants to know me but cautions when touching me.  Along my arm the breeze effortlessly stays, providing its presence, waiting for my next move.  I stop unexpectedly as not to loose this feeling.  My feet are bare and exposed to the ground.  The breeze swiftly picks up to begin another journey only to stray away from me.  I turn with a tremor of sadness to watch for signs it really existed as I felt.  Time torments me as I wait but I will always wait and then…I can see long strands of the hunter green grass playfully dance amongst each other.  The movement depicts a sense of controlled chaos and never do they become damaged from the breeze.  Everything inside of me is breaking with every breath I release.  All around me, I can see intense pink hues lighting up the sky revealing themselves from just beyond the soft white clouds.  My eyes are so weighted not able to hold on to all these images as the sun drifted lower to rest for a new day.  


Submitted: June 08, 2013

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mikeyboy

It's the little things that make up EVERYTHING!

Sat, December 5th, 2015 3:19pm

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