Sta.sh
You think you feel him, but He feels you, comforting you in a way you consider cold.
He is not a stranger, but an old friend; your most trusted colleague.
You trust him with your life.
At dawn, He greets your tired expression with a gust.
At noon He hugs your body, giving you a feeling of comfort in the dead heat.
At dusk, He feigns the identity of an enemy; one who constricts you, chokes you, and shows little mercy.
When He is happy, He creates the illusion of not being there; He holds your hand, comforting you.
When He is expressionless, He walks the Earth, looking for a wall to lean on. To call his own.
When He is sad, He sprints from his fears, looking for a generous soul to holds hands with. To comfort him. He hugs you if you allow Him.
When He is angry, He attacks everyone who steps into His domain - battering their bodies and faces with invisible forces.
He is the Wind - Your misunderstood friend. One who wants comfort. One who cannot give, but wishes to receive.
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