I used to feel the wind.

It would whip through the atmosphere,

Sending gusts in all directions.

Trees would bend to its will,

And it nearly knocked me to the ground

On several occasions.

I used to feel the wind.

Some days it would stop

And usher in a stillness to stand in its place.

Yet, I could still feel the subtle breeze,

The gentle rustling of branches

To let me know that, somewhere,

It was alive

And so was I.

I used to feel the wind.

I was blessed with the opportunity

To smell the rain it carried in its path –

The rain that drenched me in those days

Before I owned a coat.

But then I found the antidote,

And was told to drink.

Once the toxic liquid touched my throat

I could no longer feel the wind.

I was barred from the storms,

The stillness,

The rain.

I was deprived of the danger,

The exhilaration,

The proof

That I was still alive.

Now I watch others

As they walk through the wind.

Their hair dances in its unpredictable gusts,

While mine won’t so much as make a rustle.

I used to feel the wind,

But now all I have

Is the staleness of stability

And a memory

I’m too numb to remember.