i was never good at the little things, like brushing my hair and tying my shoes. breathing has always been the hardest. every constricted breath catapults me into another few moments of life, however reluctant i am. my mind follows its own selfish agenda by forcing its vehicle to continue on in its existence, while my input disappeared years ago. my lungs breathe, my legs walk, but i keep as far away as possible, living unconfronted in what was once a heart, I’m sure.
