Je Suis Le Vent

The snow had begun to cascade the city rooftops, terraces began to dawn an image of overgrown icicles, and those adventurous few willing enough to brave the torture of the elements appeared to be nothing more than walking snowmen. The lights danced off the falling flakes, illuminating the sky with a blanket that appeared to be a million falling stars—nature’s way of making up for the one’s that couldn’t be seen through the thick clouds. The cold began to beat down at the windows, at the doors, at the walls, at the sanity of its victims; like a thrown out guest that was fighting to get back in, it too was craving acknowledgment of its existence.

Coming out of nowhere the storm took over the city, engulfing the inhabitants, with them their hopes, their dreams, their fears, their worries—unifying everyone in a state of solitude and loneliness. Was it too much to ask for recognition? Was it too much to see the grandeur of the situation? Like a small child yelling for attention, the wind, the clouds, the nighttime in its solitude was now crying out. The attention it yearned for so desperately was finally being given, and though it would only be a moments time, it did empower the ferocity. Instead of being loved, it was content in settling for just being noticed, recognition did enough to fill the void and pain of being forgotten and ignored. To it, something will always be better than nothing.