Just the intro of a prompt I wrote

I was born in the wind, so I guess it only makes sense that the wind was the last thing to see me go. The wind, and him, that is. They say no one should die alone, but it would have been better if he wasn’t there. I wouldn’t have been alone if he wasn’t there, either: I had the wind. I always had the wind, if nothing else. The wind carried me into life, through the mess, and cradled me as I left just as I became alive.

In the end the wind had wrapped itself around me and pulled. I couldn’t resist the pulling, if I could have, then I would have. I would have held myself in order not to be alive, and in the end, I would have done anything to stay with him. It’s funny how life does that: takes you at your best, without caring what else might be a priority, other than dying.

I guess in the end it was more about me than him. I had to leave, and no matter how much he pleaded and cried, I couldn’t change it. I couldn’t change it as the wind whipped around me in circles. I couldn’t change it as my hair stuck to my face with the rain. And as I died, I couldn’t change the fact that I had been alone the whole time.

He just didn’t understand: I was okay, I found peace in the rain.