There have been many of them over the last couple of months.
So many moments where the next breath seems distant.
While I take a breath, I prepare myself for the grasping of the next. They always come.
And time always moves on.
Then the breath, the moment of desire.
When the deep inhale of clarity is taken.
The eyes close.
The chest slowly sinks with the long and lingering exhale.
The breaths that follow seem sweet,
like the first kisses from the summer's sun after a bitter winter.
To breath again.
To be from under the rock of constant remembrance.
Of constant struggle.
To breath free.
To be free.