Pencil sketch a man and woman in a passionate embrace. His head is on her shoulder, and her hair spills around them both.
Pencil sketch a man and woman in a passionate embrace. His head is on her shoulder, and her hair spills around them both.

Breathe
3.31.19

I forgot to breathe.
Our eyes locked as soon as I opened the door to that crowded living room and I forgot to breathe.
He walked to me, arms opening to welcome and introduce the lifetime I already saw with each step he took
Seconds unfolding to decades as we moved, and danced, and kissed
I smelled the salt of his ocean and felt the sunlight of his island flood my face
I heard the first, broken screams of our son as he crashed to life in the operating room
I touched the sandy earth under my feet as we chased barefoot children with peppermint laughter and dinosaur tails around our back yard at a third birthday party

I felt his hands circle into my hair as he pulled my in for a kiss, the taste of him, ginger and sea salt and warm love flooding my mouth, as I fell helplessly in love with the man who crossed the room and I couldnโ€™t breathe

And so I stood. Paralyzed. Breathless. Speechless.
And he crossed the room
And he reached me
And he said his name.

And I gasped a tiny thing that felt like a flood of feathers beating against my entire life
blue and white wings beating a Jayโ€™s raucous bravado against my defeat
I lost a battle to remain a whole individual
A dying ember of the Independent feminist I thought I was
My fish needed his bicycle and I was enveloped in the lifetime that flooded when he touched my cheek and tilted my face into the light of our future together.

I forgot to breathe, and heโ€™s been my oxygen for 20 years.
I forgot to breathe, and he saved my life.
I forgot to breathe
and he gave me his number.

So I spent the standard three-day wait before calling him in his bed, wrapped naked in his sheets.

Handwritten, cursive signature says "pea flower tea" in lowercase letters. The flower is a small sketch of a bloom, instead of the word for "flower".
If an idea doesn't explode orgasms of bright sparks, cascading into and setting my own dark places alight, then I probably won't write about it.

Tell me something that moves you.

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