The wind blows where it wants to.
It brushes my cheeks and swoops up into the heavens. It glides through the buildings of the city, and tickles the trees with its sweet whispers and then reaches you. But do you realize it’s the same wind?
We are from the same place. We belong to the same family and same tribe.
We are the broken ones. We are the self loathing, questioning, angry, and hurt ones.
We are the rumbling of the stomach asking for food.
We are the tangled hair in the morning.
We are the trash perfectly full, and ready to be taken out.
We are life.
We are the rhythms of choosing to live today, or saying maybe tomorrow.