The Crest of the Wind

It's that cool breeze thing, it's making me dizzy and plaguing my mind with thoughts of what used to be. As the crest of the wind brushes past my shoulder, slightly messing up my hair, I believe in the origin that brought it to me. And, following the thought, I go back to my youth where I played, where I pondered the thoughts that any eight-year-old boy would have thought. And I think forward from that point, but still backward where I stand, and I see myself with my friends, with loved ones and lost ones, and I escape the memories that are painful and hold on to the pleasant ones.