When I let myself wallow, I breathe long and deep and slow and sometimes, sometimes I stop breathing all together.
Just for a minute. I lie down, stare at nothing in particular, and listen to my heart pound: each throb against my rib cage a shattering reminder that I am here for now and every breath you have is borrowed my dear, so please — make the most of it. Continue reading
thinking outrageously, i write in cursive 