Windblown

Sometimes the wind caresses my cheek,
and sometimes it can blow right through me,
pushing along the tumbleweeds that
were once my spirit. Dried-up, wasted
dreams I sought to nourish with little
more than my hot breath and the salt of
my tears. I watch them rolling across
the landscape as I bid them adieu.
Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com
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