It sounds... lonely, and yearning. Like the person who wrote it wanted to be brushed by the wind, too. That the world moved without them, when they wanted to move with the world, off the path that they'd been given.

[ something... like that. she's not the analytic of their floor, not the literature nerd of their floor, not the sensitive artistic soul... but that's what she thinks.

she wished she could've been brushed by the wind, too. ]