SO the following fragment is actually something I wrote in 2013 when I was like 14, so if you think it is really subpar of a thought, that is because I wasn’t as developed of a writer as I would like to at least think I am now. Never the less, I feel like it is beautiful in its own way and that it is very much on my mind nowadays as it was then.
It seems all was easier then.
The wind would swallow us and we would let it.We loved its breeze and it loved us back, you could tell by the way it grazed your skin.Most people would not believe that the wind was capable of loving men but it loved us, I was sure of this more than ever as I had to leave it once again. It seemed that things would never be so sweet, so simple, so perfect as they had been those days out in the tall, red grasses. It wouldn’t matter what I loved, what loved me, or what I needed…. I had to go to my dreaded cage. I loathed those city lights but the choice was never mine. I cried deeply as we drove away and I heard the wind wail in sorrow also.
” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”