Can you feel the wind, gently bashing against your chest?
The clouds blocking your sight. The haze of dust and shit and lies. The cold, grasping your spine tightly, standing you straight. Your knees giving in, cold feet, and a void in your stomach that will just not let you be.
Can you feel a storm is coming? Will it be perfect? All storms are!
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Every now and then, I like to let go of my iron grasp on life. Letting it have its way with me, until I decide it’s time to reach out and grab it by the throat again. I like to just renounce all the control I so carefully build up, just to be taken off my feet, taken on a trip. Just to see where I land and if I’ll survive.
We spend most of our lives carefully sailing ahead, enjoying the calm seas and brilliant Sun. I just love it when I’m lost in a storm, with no direction at all, and the only sure thing I can reach out and touch is the wind, gently bashing against my chest.
7 Brilliant Comments so far
You seem to have read my mind. I was longing for one of these last night.
ily, I want one now!
Do I, by any chance, smell social mutiny?
Raka, well, that’s one way to look at it. The emphasis lies more on the individual than on the herd in these cases.
I sincerely find herds a despicable lack of individual personality of each of the gathered individuals to form the herd. Thus, I commit myself to being the Lynx, if I may take over this alias when our rebelion will officially start
I’d prefer to be in it, if you actually don’t mind the intrusion 
Raka, the whole point is to do as little as possible and see where you drift to.
But you’re more than welcome to join me
“The haze of dust and shit and lies.” I love how you said that.