Breathe.

Life is like this. Life is random. And when we listen long enough these thoughts dare to grace us with their presence. Everyday she tries to remind herself. Everyday she tries. “Share.Share music, share art, share passion, share knowledge, share love, share life. Learn, grow, adapt, accumulate, become impassioned, know, love, live. Think, speak, hear, explore, listen, see, act, look, experience more. Your time has come, your path has been set, you have found your footing. Now find your place. Enjoy. Be ecstatic, be grateful, be full. Be unsatisfied.Look for more, look deeper, look inward, look all around you. Smile, brighten, flow, breathe. Move.” But it’s not always that easy. There are days when the struggle is more than she’s prepared to take. And the end result is not always so pretty. Loneliness spins us around and sets us down facing backwards. Looking to the past for answers to current questions. Longing for the things we let go of because we knew they were no good for us. Yearning for faces long forgotten. It makes us desirous of the things we used to know and refuses to let us move on. Sometimes you look back and it’s like looking at a picture. A bluish-grey cloud of smoke traces downward slowly circling towards a smoldering cigarette burning back toward chipped fingernails resting upon soft wrinkled skin covered in lines that make their way up along an arm outstretched beneath a tear soaked pillow upon which long hair lies strewn across closed lids still puffy covering bloodshot eyes just below black lashes that point down toward a stain of mascara running down pale cheeks toward soft pink lips slightly parted slowly taking stale air into heavy lungs breathing warmth out upon a fist still slightly clenched in memory of pain arching back toward bent elbow resting just above knees pulled tightly inward for warmth and a false sense of security covered by a mass of sheets crumpled awkwardly attesting to prior restlessness and recently passed struggle within now silent self. There’s no real way to describe how it feels, but perhaps this is close enough. In an instant, everything tenses. It’s like trying to squeeze the juice out of a lime that hasn't been peeled, or even cut into. Only you aren't the hand this time, you are the fruit itself. You struggle with everything you have against the strength of something 100 times your size using all it's might to drain you of everything you're made of. You feel the nails digging deep into your flesh; and you keep pushing, and you keep pushing, and you keep pushing, and you keep pushing, and finally you let go. And you explode. And the most valuable pieces of you leak out onto the hand that's destroyed you. And your only hope for retaliation is to seep into every cut, every opening, and burn, sting, hurt, fight back. But it's never enough. And in the end you lie beaten. Spent. Just a fraction of what you used to be. Empty, like someone just took your breath away. And sometimes, we are too weary to fight, and we find rest. Every now and then, usually after a quiet day to herself, thoughts begin to float around in her head, and all she can do is write them down and hope some day the reveal something of importance, “never quite sure how to feel on nights like these. I love the rain but miss the stars...when will these days be done... too strong to feel this pain, too young. Maybe I’ll be able to cry when there is someone there to wipe away the tears...of these lonely nights, these broken years. Too tired, too weary... waiting for these lonesome hours to finally pass me by. I miss the me I know is hiding inside... so tired of this long and troubled ride...having trouble reminding myself to breathe.” There are the days when all she sees is heart break, and a tormented soul. Drunk on life, back up against the wall. Hiding behind mascara and a pretty smile. Wrapped up in a sea of people, braced against the cold. And she thinks, “Dance until you can’t feel your heart beating. Move until your legs fail you. Force your limbs out of atrophy. Just to feel alive. Just to feel whole. You can't dream if you're not sleeping, can't think when the music deafens you. Poor lighting and aesthetic stimulation. When reason fails fill your senses. Good friends and a glass of wine. You can only fall so far when there's someone there to catch you. Compensate for loneliness with a warm fire and a good book. It’s worth waiting when it's just a matter of time. You’ve already come so far...you're bound to get there eventually”. So she does what she can to make it easier, and to find the strength she needs. There’s a little plaque hanging on the wall, just beside the doorway, that simply repeats the word. It’s simple word, on a simple plaque, in a simple bathroom belonging to a simple girl. Yet, it speaks volumes and it means more to her than she's usually willing to admit. Its placement was not random; it serves as a constant reminder to perform that small, menial task so vital to her survival. Oh, how easy it can be to forget. The bathroom, with all its function and practicality, serves as a threshold, the place where she prepares to start or end her day. to face either the dreams that fill her troubled mind as she rest or the trial and responsibility that come with the light that fills her room and warms her to waking. The plaque prescribes the medicine that is not only integral to her physical being, but that will fill and heal her weary soul. with each pass through that entry way, ready for whatever may come next, it whispers softly to her: breathe breathe breathe breathe breathe. Sit long enough, become calm, become quiet, and your breath becomes as thunder, enough to shake your foundations. Silence. When you tear away everything that matters, and are left with only the most important things, all you have is yourself, and all you can do is breathe. Just remember to breathe.