-Sya-
Love is in the air, gusting through the pathways my feet accustom to walking on, carrying words along with the pollens of the springtime flowers. Breezes whisper the cherry blossoms will be especially exquisite this year. They carry her sweet fragrance, letting me know she'll be arriving to meet me, seconds before she wraps her hands around my eyes. "Ey up, mate! Guess who?" she asks in a bad accent, mimicking our magical acquaintances from England. Her hair ribbon flutters against my cheek. I stand still, savoring Windy school days…
-Yue-
…blend and bleed together like water-paints on a blank canvas, filling in the emptiness with multiple meanings to be misinterpreted and reinterpreted by passers-by. Only she knows me best, mentally noting every dislike, every like, and even the neutralities; they all matter somehow. I'm mastered in the absolute. The moon would yield to a star; it is in its nature. The air currents quicken around, closing in from the vicinity. I'm bound momentarily in an embrace that speaks, "It's all right to love her. I won't tell." Outwardly, I admit nothing. It is only Wind.
-Sak-
Words flow back, displaced dusts of broken conversations; lexical games of you and me,
I lack the phrases, the anagrams to reply suitably, coveting the eloquence of Windy.