Chasing

Need to get this out of my system.

He has spent his life chasing the wind.

Always chasing that fleeting current, trailing behind and never catching up.

He chases, and chases for so many years that he’s lost track. He pushes himself, reaches for that which he cannot obtain.

It’s a fool’s dream, he’s told. And finally, he’s too tired. Too tired physically, too tired mentally, too tired spiritually. He gives up.

When the wind turns, the wind he has sought so desperately for oh-so-many years, when the wind seeks him and not the other way around…

He is surprised to find that he is not elated.

When did the gentle wind he so lovingly remembered turn into this biting gale, the bitter cold that lashes against his face?

When did the lax wind that had once comfortingly brushed against him turn into this tempestuous prison, the furious cutting winds that slashed at him should he move in the wrong direction?

When did the serene breeze that gave way to nature’s cries and children’s jubilation turn into this howling sentience, the screaming wind over which nothing can be heard?

Why has the wind changed?

Or did it really change?

Why does he not remember any of this?

What made him chase this for so long?

Had he ever understood anything about the wind?

How did it turn out like this?