I'm curling cracked strands of hair on my cold, rigid index as I beg the cells in my body to calm the hell down, and I'm scared I'm going to die because my heart is racing way too fast tearing its shins burning its muscles gasping for oxygen, and it's crushing my stomach like a rock at the bottom of a flowing river. My mouth's been drained from saliva for decades; as if saliva was luxury you could only savour when the sun is shining and the birds are singing and the world is laughing.
One, two, three,
"Breathe"
"Breathe"
"Breathe" I tell myself.
But this word seems to be a secret code, like the spoken signal for my eyes to finally unleash the tears that were building in them; those ferocious beasts that pound heavily like clenched fists on my cheeks.
