I'm not the wind

"It'll pass", he says
In an essence of anonymity and an empty gaze.
I wince at the tough imaginings of us being no longer,
and pray that it will pass,
he will come again
We will be again.
My feeling washed away deep within the gentle breeze as it takes what we once had with it.

I now walk away and attempt to detach from the period of love I shared with him.
Just as easy as he had,
but I'm not the breeze,
I'm not the ocean,
and I refuse to be swept away.