Gone with the wind

Strangely enough, I can feel him by my side every time the wind blows through my hair. He used to run his fingers through my hair. He used to twist it, tangle it, mess it about; just like the wind. Sometimes he shared the coldness of the wind within his fingertips but only rarely, because his hands were normally as warm as the blood running through my veins when he would caress my head. So gentle, nearly easy to miss, were his touches. He knew just how to make me fall into a trance while tenderly touching my long and scented hair, leaving me lost within his kisses and the burning desires of our hearts. I loved letting him play with my hair, although brushing it would become a pain, because it made me feel like I was his little girl. His lover; his one to protect. It made me feel special and wanted and loved. It made me feel like I mattered to someone, more than I ever thought I would matter. He would send so much love to me just through his little, gentle caresses. And so, I love him for being with me all the time in my heart and mind or in my arms.