You never realize the presence of solitude until the wind ceases its tirade. Slow kisses against your skin, raising ideas and conceiving love in the forms of dilated pupils and reaching hands. The comfort in knowing the forces of the Earth keep our souls breathing and our hearts teeming, doubled in the expectation of a solid hand pushing us to brighter beginnings and sunset endings. When the wind dies down, all expectations fall with rotting trees that will never know the touch of flesh, the warmth of blood dancing just below the surface of their calloused shields. Solitude seeks company, but death seeks us all.