I don't really think about my breathing until late at night. That's when I have to focus on inhaling, exhaling. On sleep, restlessness. Thoughts, words, conversations. Chords, melodies, remembering what middle C sounds like. On wanting you to be mine. On maybe wanting him because it's safe. On remembering who I am when I'm back in my own skin. Staying in my own skin.
There's hardly enough oxygen anymore.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I bet you find it hard to breathe too. I think we're more the same than anything else. You say you're in love with yourself. I don't want to agree. You've told me more in a single look than you like to let on. I'm letting you win, just by letting the echo of the word beautiful on your tongue sink into my skin and revive honeysuckle vines that spiral around my veins. I only think like this when you're around.
I'm in the clouds now.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I'm always trying to say goodbye to you. Always, hoping it will be the last time. You don't even look up at me, and I keep expecting some pretty half smile with that look in your eyes I get sometimes. You don't even look up at me. Maybe that's what I'm waiting for. Perhaps, that could be a last time.
Sometimes it feels like I'm not even here.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I thank God for the gift of time. These suffocating nights will be no more than a distant memory, mistaken for a dream, maybe.
Maybe.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I'd still love you regardless.
Lies.
Inhale.
Exhale.
I'd still love you.
Regardless.
Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Exhale.
