My senses aren't enough

That fan is chipping away at my heart. It sits there conducting its purpose, but it has no knowledge of its capability. It has successfully brought fire to my cheeks and puddles to my pillow case. The simple hush, lullaby sound and the cool breeze sends me backwards into those nights with your breath, in, and out. Those eyes shut and calm, putting up bricks against the storm. You lay there so peacefully, like sleep is pure joy. That fan sat there, oblivious to its helping hand. For a man who secretly boiled beneath the skin, the cool brush of air, pushing back every strand, made his soul into swift, rocking waves. Back and forth, back and forth, he slept. And now that fan attempts to cool my restless sleep. Brushing away the bangs, hushing the creeks of the house, but never getting close to the calmness of your presence.