I Forgot to Breath

Dear one, is it true? Have I never told you? Did I not? I meant to. If you’re still breathing, you’re the lucky one.

Because I don’t think I’ve breathed since I pulled away from your lips the last time we kissed.

I think I forgot how. Is breathing easy my dear? Do you do it naturally now? Maybe you could remind me. Maybe you could re-teach me how.

Do you remember that summer? The one in the sun, with all the fresh air, all the breaths we took running to the lake over and over again.

I think my first breath was when I came up from the water, gasping from being down there too long. The sun rays hit you, you shined. The breath I got was…well…you. You forced air into my lungs, started this stunted heart back into beating. Who gave you the permission to do that?

Did I ever tell you? Probably not. Doesn’t seem like a thing I’d do, or a thing you’d hear.

Stop. Maybe I don’t want to be reminded. I don’t think I can. I’ll just live without breath. It’s not that important anyway.