I am the wind that travels through the empty corridors of your heart, toppling over abandoned manuscripts half-written by those who parted ways with it long ago. The dust having settled for years, continuously compounded, has congealed leaving a thick barrier around purity and innocence which is not easily blown away by the gusts of fresh air. Each step through the murky halls leaves more prints that you can only hope will remain identifiable for years to come but the buildup within your fragile structure has seen these shoes before. Rooms are locked with keys broken off within, door jams sealed tight with boxes trapped inside. If you were to open those doors, my squalls would see such pain and tragedy contained in each square crate but wind itself is not deterred by goodness’ sake or evil’s fate. Watch as I filter each passageway, meant not for yesterday but right now as I clear the way left impeded by those who disavow. After each storm, gales do come to clear the debris and, as sure as the world turns, a luminous sight appears to burn away the memory of what’s lost and brightens the road for what’s to follow. I am the wind, you are the heart, and the tempest has concluded bringing way for new beginnings to trust in and believe like the cool breeze of this winter’s day.