Wind

She rode the wind like a motorcyclist rides the curves of a rural road. The wind with all its twists and turns that tasted like freedom from everything that haunts my abode. That sometimes nasty natural current that cares for my pain, doesn’t think it is vain, but rips the stain that permeates my brain. All this threatening, leading me away from what many others with privilege say is sane. But she whisks me away. The voices that remind me of sin fly like leaves in the wind. I live with things that no longer bother me. I am happy.

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