Breeze

I sit at my desk, with a melancholy that is starting to gain up on me, like the mist of an early morning or the fog of a late afternoon. listening to strokes of guitars, i feel like a breeze on my face, and i am tempted to close my eyes to the delight of the illusion. the voice in the song forms a shape in my head, a person, a close-up on someone in a square somewhere in the world, a blurry image, a need to be lose with that breeze the way that person is. i feel the breeze caressing my soul, i sense it moving from city to city, person to person, a gentle stroke of a caring being spreading the tenderness and quenching a thirst for freedom, for love. wandering on its way, it crosses havens where only a breeze can wander, from a realm to a next, from faces to flowers to trees to bridges. and as it goes, it takes away a little of what it touches, and gives it to the other, the longing of a lost soul, the beauty of a simple flower, the mystery of a forgotten overgrown garden, the sounds it makes as it goes through leaves of trees by the water... makes you want to go there, under that tree, just lay there, look up, forget, get lost between the foliage of a thousand story, sun barely filtering, as you sense the mist gaining up on your world... and you humm with the song, with the breeze, and let go...