Memories are like the passing wind
It passes us through the phases
But it doesn’t come back the same
The same smell, same colour, same temperature
It won’t be the same
I acknowledged my nightmares as the passing wind
The punches they gave, the stares and laughs
It is still in my head
It is fear that stays but not in the same way as they used to be
And when the fear grows, it locks my movements from being free
And that I would never be the same ever again
The passing wind forces me to create a box of voices that repetitively plays in the hallows of my
mind
Some would say, “This is the end for you”
And some would say, “You have to work it through”
It causes a dynamic confusion in my decision making
I wanna discard the box of voices that lied to me of what a life ahead of me if I die
And so I will
Though, I know it will kept being created
But I will destroy those voices
And I will create a good passing wind
Now, here I am telling you
This will have a stop
This might still go on
But this passing wind will stop
And it depends on how I find a way to stop it
Because the afterlife is not a place I wanna go
The sound of the wind
That was all I could hear
The soft sound
That blew past my ears
As if people were whispering
Saying “Thank you for living”
“Thank you for breathing”
The embracement of the wind
Puts me to sleep
And not wanting to think
Nor bother what they think
While I sleep in the clouds
With the wind, I’m breathing
With the wind, today, I win
-Alami Hawla
