During the Cave Rescue Mission

I use the wet mud on the rocks as paint to draw my wishes.

My friend’s sigh is the reminder of where we are,the shell that currently stores my dreams at night;the living quarters that excavate breath from my lungsas if the world demanded it needed mine.

I am breathing.

We were here for a moment.Now we feel the calendar says forever.My feet planted in a pot of blisters, moss covers my pillow.Green becomes the shape of my palmsand I pretend it's my mother’s favorite blanket draped across our chairs.

I am breathing.

I clasp hands with my friends when our mouths can't fathomopening for anything other than our sweetest dish.We communicate with squinted eyes;we are swinging between our own expressions at the playgroundamong what was and what will be.

I am breathing.

I press my ears against the cold rocks and hear echoes of the birds.I hear echoes of my mother in foyer,telling my sister to put her shoes on.I hear echoes of my brother’s footsteps in the corridor;the rain sounds like water through our bathroom faucet.

I am breathing.

So, take me out and I can see the light as a part of this sun,not as a symbol of leaving this mortality all together.Take me out and I can clasp your hand againlike we did at school one month ago.Take me out and I can hold

everyone single one of you.

Take me out,

because

I’m still breathingand I can sense the market chatter outside my windowlike it’s another Monday.

I’m still breathingand I can trim my mother’s roses.

I'm still breathingand I'll never curse the warm rays on my shoulders again.

I’m still breathingand at 15 years old I know that I cannot let this life pass me by.

I’m still breathingand I cannot wait to see you again.

I’m still breathing.