Outside my bedroom window, the wind whistles and whines

It is screaming for mercy again, 

It is screaming for one more chance to be vulnerable again

So I, still lying in my jeans at eleven pm, sing back to the wind, if only to let it know that it is not alone

It’s not easy, being alone

I learned this when I was trapped inside my home and realized that dying is quiet and lying is easy

I realized, in my little prison, that the human body is strong even though the mind is weak

So I, only half revived, empathize with the wind

And encourage it to scream louder.