inhale

It’s like— the world pauses. Not a full stop, no, just a breath. A comma in time, a sliver of space. Inhale. Feel it— how it sinks low, how it rises slow, like the tide kissing the shore then pulling away, retreating into itself. And the air, it’s like— it fills you up but leaves you empty, holds you close but keeps its distance. It whispers, "You’re here, you’re now, you’re fine." Exhale. And everything softens. It’s like— you’re lighter than you were before, like you shed something, something heavy and sharp, and now you’re floating, somewhere between the earth and the clouds, but you’re not lost, you’re just— drifting. Inhale again, like pulling in pieces of peace, small fragments of stillness you didn’t know were missing. And the world is spinning but you’re not. Not anymore. You’re just— breathing.