That guy: More poetry?

What's wrong with me?

Anyways, here we go. I'll try to keep it short.






The breeze glances over him.
Deflected by the battle-hardened skin.
Diffused by a glare.

But it brings a tail with it. A second wind.
The scent is familiar, so familiar. But distant.
He breathes deeply, infused by the wash of memory the air provides.

He looks at his hands. They pain him, but all he can smell is Mexico.

He looks at the sky. It clouds, but all he can smell is a lake.

He looks forward. The wind wraps him up, a blanket of serenity.

A soft, soothing, caress.

Safe

The word shivers off his lips, almost not daring to leave.
It reaches the threshold, and falls, wafting gently to the ground, like a feather.

He surveys his surroundings.

Nothing but the usual.

Then where did this word apparate from?
What force caused it to spring about?

Safe

He smiles.

All he wanted was a conversation.

The wind quivers, and vanishes, leaving an empty shell filled with void.

But the smell lingers.