My legs dangled from the cliff. The hair on my arms swayed with the errant breeze, and the grass beneath my fingers tickled the palms of my hands. I inhaled the sweet, ocean air that brought to mind my youth. A clean slate that remained so kind; so fragile.

I breathed deeply before letting out a roar as loud and clear as I could produce. My eyelids remained shut as the air projected itself from my lungs, through the canal of my throat, and into the wind. I was so angry at the wind. I wanted it to know how angry I was. But no matter how much I huffed, and how much I puffed, the wind did not seem to notice. I felt its serenity, as persistent and pronounced as ever. It is then, as the wind embraced me into its arms, that I realized that I will always forgive the wind, but never be able to.