Smooth, for the Moment

There is a sadness that is soft.
Sometime, I go looking for it. 

I go and watch the wind. 
I go where I can see my tiniest hairs
as they brush my face.

Oblivious and dancing. 
 
They are gold for the briefest moment,
reavealed in the sunlight.
Untranslated, they drift
back into shadow.

Distant. 

I am reminded that I am not my pieces.
My braids are tight. 
Yet, everything, even my own hair, escapes. 

The wind 
loves me, 
consoles me.
It doesn't know how,
So it laughs,
tickling my nose.
Its gentle touch, 
the saddest sweetest thing