The stars twinkled above his head, but he paid them no mind. He’d seen stars before.

The crickets chirped loudly. He paid them even less mind. He hated crickets.

The moon shown brightly, as if it was trying to be a star instead of a rock stuck reflecting the sun. He couldn’t have cared less.

But the wind, the wind he paid attention to.

The soft breeze caressed his skin where he lay on the floor of the wooded area. When he closed his eyes, he blocked everything else out, and concentrated on that feeling. For the first time this week he stopped obsessing over how he looked, obsessing over the words he said, obsessing over the way the words he said made him look. Stopped remembering the agitation of being criticized daily just for being who he was. He ceased to remember why all of the million little idiosyncrasies of his life were important enough to stress over. But more importantly he stopped thinking about the pain.

This pain was new. It had begun as mental, the moment the man he had given his life to had packed his bags and left without a word. Then it had spread to physical, as his silent mantra of “He left. He really left me.” drove him to distraction and he was force to take it out on the slightly tanned skin of his forearms. He never had been strong enough without him, his rock, beneath him.

Shutting those thoughts away, he allowed the breeze to take him to a different place. A place where he was strong, strong enough to bring him back.

And for the moment at least, he felt calm.