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# 31
My chest feels like a big red balloon.
Switching between over-swelled, Bulging, Tight.
To deflated and limp.
Again and again and again.
In. Out. In. Out.
The breaths come faster.
The balloons limitations heighten, only so much air can pass through at a time.
I grasp at the stings that dangle from my shirt. Who is sending all this so fast?
They need to slow down.
But I don't hate it and I can't stop it.
In. Out. In. Out.
The strings are wrapped three times around my wrists.
When did I do that?
In out. In out. In out.
The air is whooshing over and over.
I can’t-
Inoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutinoutin
I force myself to focus on the softness of my sweater buttoned around my taut chest.
I fold my hands and feel the roughness of my palms, the smoothness of my nails, the surety of my string around my finger.
I focus on the lights above me and count the tiles on the ceiling.
The balloon miraculous slows a bit and I can feel my head again.
In out. In out. In out.
It didn't float away.
I didn't fly away on an overwhelming air currant.
I am still here.
I plant my feet in the ground and feel fresh roots make a home below me, anchoring me to reality, to the world.
The air gets slower and slower until I feel flowers bloom between my toes.
Until I feel the strength return me to a slow and steady flow of air in and out of my lungs.
In. Out. In. Out.