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I will be the wind

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I am a piece of paper.

In the beginning I was blank. I could have been anything.

A paper airplane, treating my life as a quick high, then being left on the ground, forgotten, had I wasted my childhood on drugs; a story, had I chosen to take my time and develop into a dynamic creature; a crumpled up ball, thrown away seconds later, had I not been loved; I could have been a college essay,

had I been created only to be given to someone else.

I am a story.

As I grew up, I chose which kind I should be.

I could have been one written by a child, should I be simple enough; a novel, should I live my life for fun, and die treating life as a game; a complex piece of art, with thoughts that run deep and insightful as the darkest red; I could have been a song, at first catchy and wonderful, soon forgotten by the world.

I am a painting.

As I continue to grow, I color and change myself.

I could be dark greens and purples, should I choose my mood to depress slightly; yellow-orange in some corny sort of false happiness; deformed like a Picasso, beautiful, but almost too complex to enjoy; I could be three-dimensional, rounded, patternless, deep.

I am three-dimensional.

I am unable to be contained on the paper I was created as. My ink, my paint, my complexity must evolve.

I could soon become a tree, to grow, to lend myself to children to play in; an ocean, vast as all eternity, powerful enough to destroy cities at any moment; the air, changing directions at every moment, unpredictable in behavior, but carrying the essence of life;

I could soon become a rock, a solid, unchanging, powerfully dense object.

Will I be the air? Obstacles in my way, I will move around.

Other obstacles I will overcome, and I will take them with me in my whirlwind;

they will become a part of my strength.

Should I come to a tree, I shall not only uproot it, but I will take it with me,

the tree will become a part of me, and I shall be stronger.

I will be unpredictable and may change my direction at any moment;

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