A
A breath
A breath in
A breath in as you look at her, across a room, and the music dulls so that all you can hear is your own breath, breath that turns to oxygen in your brain that tells you to move, and your legs move by themselves powered by a breath
A
A breath
A breath in
A breath in as you pick her up for your third date, and go to shake her father’s hand, a breath that you hold for fear of losing it, for fear of never having another to take in, a breath that is released as soon as he calls you son
A
A breath
A breath in
A breath in as you take a knee, in a puddle, and breathe sharply at the cold soaking into your jeans but it’s quickly forgotten, a breath of her own that turns into the word yes, and suddenly neither of you can breathe, but all you can do is breathe, and everything is colorful and bright
A
A breath
A breath in
A breath in that comes out as “I do,” the air becomes words, the words clean and fresh and new, words you will remember speaking for the rest of your life but you don’t remember the breath that lead to them
A
A breath
A breath in
A breath in as you see the face of your baby for the first time, a breath of surprise, of wonder, of joy at a face you will soon know better than your own, a face you cannot stop looking at
A
A breath
A breath in
A breath in as that same face says those words, I do, but the breath catches in your throat and can’t make its way to where it needs to go; tears knock the breath loose and your chest rises and falls
A
A breath
A breath in
A breath in as you know there’s not much left for you here, and a breath in that comes out and is not followed by another, but there is nothing known but peace
A
A breath
A breath in
A breath in as you open your eyes, a new place, a million new memories to make, and a breath that follows but is one of joy, happiness, surprise
As you see her across the room and know
This breath was not the only thing that followed you
Back
Home.
