Noah Lloyd

As wind runs its fingers against your face, morphing itself around you with its rush, the sensation itself is one of primary beauty. The current of air has its similarity to the sea, though not as harsh, and empty space cannot replicate its touch because it lacks intimacy. The passing air has its special kiss.

The wind is felt like color is seen. When one thing has its own color, it may be of a likeness to many others that share its shade, but to have a unique coating that catches the human eye with its beautifying abilities is a tremendous thing. Natural gusts have this uniqueness about them when embracing the unshielded witnesses to its presence. Many sensations can be likened to it, but none have what it has.

A color of its own. What would it be?

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How long must the spirit cling to the flesh? So many grow weary. What was the purpose of taking on this vessel of skin to explore this realm? Will anyone give us an answer?

I find myself wandering. This world and its peculiarities are quite alluring, though it seems to…

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