memory breathes. it comes in cycles i inhale that afternoon light. the last day i saw you golden, it sliced through the slats in your blinds my birthday chocolates untouched on the bed, a cigarette shared, now ash on your windowsill those honest eyes that said it all that you were scared to break me. memory breathes and i exhale time increasing between our messages unfurling into distance like a ribbon or a winding road i counted the days like tracking sobreity memory breathes and k can’t remember when i stopped tracking when the sting of conversations never finished become softened like glass by the sea memory breathes but we hold in what we don’t want to forget and the pressure builds until our airways are tense and what could have been becomes unspeakable so we translate it into language that shelters the truth and what was once there in every breath in gasps of air between laughter and later in ragged sobs into pillowcases now comes in sputters or floats away and hangs in the air before my lips the bonds are broken, it is no longer my oxygen it can no longer sustain me memory breathes until it doesn’t