I read it. The wind had brought that whisper to me. A sigh, an utterance – a breath of remembrance that has traveled through this space, crept through this web of cosmos; flown through time and then sat behind the bars in the window pane.
It is the rose that has bloomed somewhere outside my prison, which I cannot see, but sometimes in the night its fragrance makes me restless. I have read it again and again. The words are simple, and the message is short. There is a storm in me however, that has brewed since forever, and now your words have blown away my shelter from this storm. Soon it will start hailing and I have no refuge.