And Through

With each breath straining against the force of the air trying to remain in its right place, I live. By will alone (it seems), I am able to move through time. Feet begging for a hint of lightness in but one labored step, I drag half-consciousness down these silent paths - the expanse of field to the left opens into the sky, limitless in blue-green on summer mornings and to my right, what may be miles of oak and maple shade. I never look into the trees. I am the prisoner of these paths, walking this narrow divide every day, barely noticing. I must have, once, to have willingly returned, before it became what defined me: "She takes such determined steps for someone going nowhere..." But I remember when I danced... A glimpse of a gaze, my meditation on serenity, and one foot recalls a lift, separation from the floors of regret; the other follows as your lips turn, softly humming the tune of my only salvation and I find my grace in a moment of exhalation as you breathe into me.