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Description
I think there's a thousand songs the wind tells me.

The wind still whistles in my ear whenever I push up against it, as if reminding me how childish I really am. When I yell questions to no one in particular, except maybe God and anyone far away from my heart to truly listen, the wind sends back a copy of myself so I understand what they hear. They hear a child, wailing, lost, still pondering life as if she had just been alive for seconds. At the same time, I'm older than most children, and my voice grows more like my parents each day. "Adolescence," everyone tells me, but what I'm feeling now is more than just one mere word long.

There's a thousand songs the wind tells me, a song for every emotion following inside me everyday. It sloshes around, mixing around with other thoughts, fears, and emotions inside my head. My mind is a leaf, travelling haphazardly through the sky, while the wind coaxes me to safety.

Like the wind, I'm not a solid object. People don't see me, but I try to touch them with my voice. Words are forever, even a hundred years from now, words will still be spoken, books will still be read, and the wind will whisper things in children's ears, encouraging them to understand the songs it sings.

Description
I think there's a thousand songs the wind tells me.

The wind still whistles in my ear whenever I push up against it, as if reminding me how childish I really am. When I yell questions to no one in particular, except maybe God and anyone far away from my heart to truly listen, the wind sends back a copy of myself so I understand what they hear. They hear a child, wailing, lost, still pondering life as if she had just been alive for seconds. At the same time, I'm older than most children, and my voice grows more like my parents each day. "Adolescence," everyone tells me, but what I'm feeling now is more than just one mere word long.

There's a thousand songs the wind tells me, a song for every emotion following inside me everyday. It sloshes around, mixing around with other thoughts, fears, and emotions inside my head. My mind is a leaf, travelling haphazardly through the sky, while the wind coaxes me to safety.

Like the wind, I'm not a solid object. People don't see me, but I try to touch them with my voice. Words are forever, even a hundred years from now, words will still be spoken, books will still be read, and the wind will whisper things in children's ears, encouraging them to understand the songs it sings.