The Wild, Wild Wind

You were the wild, wild wind.

You danced into my life like a twister, annihilating everything around us so that there was only you and me.

The chairs, the tables, the walls. The very room we stood in, gone.

Just you…and me.

I looked at you with your head bowed, taking in the way your lashes cast shadows along the length of your porcelain-skin cheeks, and when you finally looked up and caught me staring… It was the eye of the storm, then. My heart stopped, the world fell into a vacuum, and there was just you…and me.

You were the wild, wild, wind.

I wasn’t your only victim.

People’s eyes followed you everywhere. I admit, I noticed, because sometimes I would walk behind you, several paces down the hall, and I would see it happen. Heads turning, ever so slightly as you passed—a glimpse, a glance, a flickering of lids—their gazes would get stuck on you like a fly in a web, but you just kept on walking. I don’t think you ever once paid attention. I imagine you didn’t look at people, much; they just looked at you.

You probably got sick of trapping everyone in the eye of your unintentional storm.

The first time we talked, I remember thinking that your voice didn’t match the rest of you.

It was high and feminine, so sweet and soft. I could tell you anything and you would have the most placating, gentle response that I never knew I so desperately wanted to hear, and you made me feel safe, and now that I think about it, your voice was perfect for you, wasn’t it? Because you were the tempest and the destruction, but you were also the cool, preliminary calm, the illusion of safety before the sky turned green and the air filled with static.

You were the wild, wild wind.

The more I got to know you, the more I realized that I would never figure you out. You were like a puzzle that had half of the pieces to one picture, half to another. I would think that I was getting close to something that resembled an image, a story I could relate to, an explanation buried in your past…but then I’d find that the red pieces had all run out, and the blue and yellow ones didn’t even fit together, and why did I have six corner pieces?

None of it made any sense at all, and I’d end up getting so frustrated with you and the labyrinth that was your exhausting, exhilarating mind. I would flip the table over and storm out, flinging all of my progress across floor in the process…but I am not the wild, wild wind, and you preferred that chaos, anyway.

You never wanted the picture to be complete.

You spoke in poetry some days and in a slew of curse words the next. Sometimes, you would be smiling and laughing and I would think that you really were just like the rest of us, after all. Other days, you would be cold and distant with a darkness simmering in your storm-cloud eyes, and I would remember that no, you were not.

I don’t think that someone like you was meant for this world.

You drove people mad without even trying, you lured people into your turbulent waters without even singing. You were an inferno that was made entirely of gasoline and dried paper; you were destined to burn with an intensity that captivated everyone who saw you, and everyone saw you…only to leave us all in a state of total darkness when you suddenly went out.

No warning, no notice. Brilliant light one second, blackness the next.

Just gone.

…My eyes still haven’t adjusted.

Everywhere I look, your ghost mars my life. You are the lingering imprint from the blinding flash of a camera, the repercussions of a photo that was never even developed.

Even now, when a gust of wind dances across my skin, I imagine that it’s just us again.

Just you…and me.

I am eternally trapped in the eye of your unintentional storm.

You were the wild, wild wind.

storm sky


14 thoughts on “The Wild, Wild Wind

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