Maybe my chime in the wind will carry a withering sound. One that strikes the bones with a seeming intent of violence. Aching its way across the spine and shimmying up through the skin and back out into the air like a scream of pain. Maybe my next chime will pass through the sky like ornaments twinkling on someone’s silver bracelet. Filling the space between thoughts with feelings of self-worth and brilliance. A deep sounding shine that finds itself glistening in everything you do. My chime will chime. And I will be there for its consequences. I will love every one of them. Reactions are like my children. The blame will be spoken for if any feeling is unwanted. If any discomfort finds itself on the wrong side of your heart. I can’t help but slowly accumulate more bells for my chimes. They’ll sing with their throats full and backs against the open air. I’m sorry if you don’t like them. Most of all, I’m proud.