The bottles in my window fell over today. And I can’t help but wonder if maybe you were the cause. If maybe the wind carried your voice, calling my name. Across 700 miles and three states. Across rivers and trees, cars and animals, people and their dreams. I can imagine you now; lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling. And maybe just maybe, you’re thinking of me, as the breeze rolled through your open window, and blew through your hair, and maybe it reminded you of when I use to play with your hair. And maybe, just maybe. You called my name. And maybe, just maybe; the wind kidnapped your words. Carried them through the window screen, above your backyard and North, to my window. And maybe, just maybe; the pure shock of your voice. So far from its place, knotted my curtains, attacked my wind chime and knocked over my sentimental glass bottles. But maybe, just maybe; I’m wrong.