This is a story,

Not about love.

No, not about life.

Nor, is it hope, nor a compromise

This is a story. A story of the wind.

Now, the wind has many stories this one I am quite familiar with.

Not only was it dark, tears flowed over few people's lips.

The wind was strong that day, & they wanted to grant her last wish,

"I want to ride the wind." she said, "& when that time comes, it’s me you will not miss"

Despite her words, their hearts grew heavy, as they opened the jar, the first of her remains found themselves afloat in a sea less current, then the rest soon followed as restlessly as the first. They would ride the waterless waves, up & down.. Left to right & around.

Then they would settle, & soon burst as lively as before, as lively as the little girl they once were. The wind sang her a lullaby, whistles & howls, harmony & swirls, they spin in circles, so tight so perfect, just like the little girls curls.

“She is not dead!”, the wind sang, “she is just free, free as a spirit, singing to her own cheerful lyrics.” but soon the wind will lessen her ride will be over, where she'll land? Hopefully nowhere.

The wind takes note, to where she wishes to go, “To the clouds!” they sing. She will never seize to float.

For she is so young, her journey mustn’t ever end. Because today, was her ride she dreamed, forever will she stay on that ride? We may not know, but if they said she was dead, well they would have surely lied,

Because I know where she is, & she is oh! so very alive. An angel took her there when she died, & I, the wind, the sea less current, the waterless wave, took her on her ride.