Dear Wind,

This is a love letter.

I love you.

I am enclosing my mouldy heart (please excuse the smell). I have cracked it open and held it up over my head in the glare of the sun, moon, stars, and I am asking you, dear wind, to dry these wounds shut, or clean, or fragrant, or even just blow where you will. It's enough to hear you shake the rafters.

I could do without the dust in my eyes, though. So it goes, when you're in love with the wind, I guess.

I was hoping we could make out for a bit and maybe fly a kite, or go sailing (but the last time we did that I nearly drowned, so maybe not), or something. Whatever. I hear it's kind of hard to harness you.

Thanks for the song you sent. Wind chimes make my knees weak.

I'm free tonight some time after eight. Maybe we should just go for a walk and we could hold hands. You could whisper those things in my ear that make me laugh. That would be nice.

Love,
Ang.

P.S.
You smell like God.