Whiff, whiff

One life is so insignificant. One blade of grass in the entire field. One grain of sand on the beach. One drop of water in the ocean. One whiff of air in the while atmosphere.
And yet there will never be another one like it. You'll encounter a grain, or a blade, or a drop or a whiff. Maybe it'll make you happy and laugh until you cry. Maybe it'll cut you open and bleed you dry. Maybe it'll fill you with warmth and kisses. But always, always in the end, when they leave you or when you leave them. When you won't meet again, at least not when you'll be the same as you are in that moment. The waves of sadness will step on your chest because that won't happen again. That's it. You're done. Those tears, that blood, that kiss - you won't see them again. Ever. Except maybe in your head. When you remember. But our minds like to play tricks, like cats with a ball of yarn, and they change things. Little tweaks, little scraps. And soon enough, when you're old the things you remember are nothing like what actually happened.
A life is an insignificant thing. A blade of grass, a grain of sand, a drop of water, a whiff of air. And I'm simply one more. Unique and tiny. And this book is my blade of grass tickling your feet, my grain of sand scratching your skin at the beach, my drop of water landing on your nose, my scent that you sniff while you take a stroll.
Even if we never meet I want you to get to know me. I want to help you, make you laugh, give you something to relate to, or just something that can take up your time.