Windkisser

A storm is blowing in on the wings of the wind. It’s been gusting and howling since last night, growing in intensity, decreasing in temperature. Wind is cleansing. When your sorrows rise to the surface, they can be swept away. All the filthy things in life we absorb will spill from our pores. The wind will evaporate them. The heat of anger will be cooled. Our tears become the first raindrops preceding the downpour. The wind will eventually bring Spring, new life, new opportunities. Two years ago, before I even knew what a blog was, a particularly windy evening kicked up, buffeting Lex and I as we walked down the boulevard, hand-in-hand. Our relationship so fresh and new we hadn’t even properly kissed. Both of us had long hair then, he still does. We must have been a sight walking along in the wind, our hair tossing around, his strands tangling with mine. He pressed me against the door of my car and that same feeling overtook me, the one of floating, hovering above the Earth, vacuum silence, intensified by an incredible kiss, the wind trying to interrupt by throwing locks of hair between our lips. Our hands fighting hair, smoothing it off each other’s faces, while still holding each other close and kissing. . . in the wind.