giving up or moving on depends on how you look at it

Outside, the wind whispers,
urging and coerscing him
to forget all that he has ever known
before or since
the dirty-fingernailed days of childhood
where he was never enough
and grew into being even less
or so he'd been told
on more than one occassion

He's considered all his options
from one end
of the spectrum to the other
but still he has no clue
and no hint of an answer
so he turns to what he knows
and listens to the voice
seeping through the cracks
to find him

The wind knows it will be an easy victory,
it's seen his type before,
and knows exactly how to lure him in
and so it begins,
seductively humming a mother's lullaby,
edged with the firmness of a father's voice,
laced with a lover's promise,
and softened by a friend's gentle touch

All the things he's always wanted
merge into a song so hauntingly beautiful
that a single note seems to encapsulate
an entire universe of longing
and tears stream down his cheeks
until he can't stand it anymore
and he flings open the shutters and the doors,
letting it take him

And the wind rushes in
and holds him gently for a moment,
a brillantly singular moment,
before it quickly, or slowly
depending on your view of time,
it breaks him into a million pieces

Smaller than the eye can see.