On poetry, or, a story of how I fell in love with myself again

I am still learning, and living, and loving, and, more often than not, coping.

The Illusion Conundrum, Part V: Excerpt #2

He couldn’t remember a time before wind. Always, it had followed him. Through his childhood, adolescence, adulthood. The windlings were a race of people born from the very air itself, created from the swirling rage of the gods thousands of years ago.