The boy, who had always been afraid of being alone.
He was never, never alone.
The wind loved the boy too much to ever let him be alone.
The boy smiled. His lips curved into the happy, loving, familiar smile he only gave to the wind. Tears dripped over his cheeks and collected at the corners of his mouth.
The wind traced over the cosmic salt of them. It had always thought it couldn’t cry. That while it could love, tears were beyond it.
But as the wind traced through the boy’s spirit leaving his body, the wind bled tears. Its weeping joined the salt of the boy’s.
It had always scoffed at time.
What was time?
Nothing to the wind.
There was only now.
But if there was only now, then it wanted now to last forever.
It wanted now, this moment, to be its eternity.
Then it would never have to say goodbye.
Was that what time was?
Was time only another word for goodbye?
The boy’s spirit rested over the wind. The wind finished its story.
It loved the boy. It had always loved the boy. It had loved him before he was born, and it would love him long after he died. It would love for eternity.
It only wanted him to stay. Just a little longer.
But he couldn’t. The wind knew this. No being could stay when it was being called away.
It held tightly to the boy’s spirit, listening to his urgent words.
Take care of Lia.
Take care of my sister.
Help the Smith.
You’re the last. Love them, Wind. Help them. Wind. Please.
The boy knew the wind could never say no when he said please.
And so even though the wind wanted to follow the boy when he left, it didn’t.
It stayed curled on his still chest, stroking his cold cheeks, ruffling his soft hair. It blew over him, covering him with gentle wind kisses.
It sang a wind song for him—the one it used to sing when he was young and afraid of the dark, and afraid of being alone.
It was a song of rustling leaves, wishes on dandelion seeds, blustering fall days, and sweet summer seaside breezes.
The boy had always loved the wind’s song.
