LoBD

Most winds touch you much like rude strangers bustling by on a crowded subway car, but today it seemed more like a young woman flirtatiously brushing my shoulder. The temperature was perfect, a pleasing upswing from the wintry days preceding it. The atmosphere was neither too light nor too heavy, but it was truly the breeze that distinguished the weather. The zephyrs rolled past every hair on my skin, exciting the nerve endings. It was the sort of feeling one gets that reminds him that he is, in fact, alive. It is not unlike being roused from dreamless sleep by a warming sunbeam. I was alive, and the sudden realization gladdened me.

The air carried faint scents, almost perceived by a sense beyond the five I knew. It was a nostalgic air, the sort that reminded you of only pleasant memories. How could a past day such as this remind one of unpleasantness, after all, as it is days like these that one is incapable of unpleasant action or attitude. I am incapable of saying what characteristic of the atmosphere blanketed me with memories of a simple, happy time. I could not tell you where in the past I had been projected, for the clues floating down with the dry, brown leaves remained just vague enough to describe no specific event or day. I would have it no other way, for each day is in itself imperfect, but there are some short stretches of our existence that are themselves flawless. And it was in this intangible place that I remained, until at once the wind stopped blowing.

The fragile conditions allowing for my escape to bliss had been altered, and wherever the wind had gone, it had taken the memories with it. Like a forgotten dream, the past had returned to its residence in oblivion.