i've been watching the words as they fall from my lips, watching them and touching the curves, the soft or harsh or, silent and i can tell when i do not need to speak anymore. i can tell, anyone can, the simple yes, simple, even if it doesn't seem so from time to time difference is that i listen, to myself. i stopped. i saved the little words and thoughts, the pieces of myself that slip would slip into the universe with casual glances or long, intent stares.

it is peculiar, breathing seems insanely uniform until you realize the complexity, until you hold it just a little longer. it's the most interesting thing, controlling the air like that, and you can.

i rarely ponder why i write or what i am writing anymore.. i wonder most times if i should bother, but still i spill this text, and every time i breathe i set down just a few more words, or many, or none at all.

it's starting to hurt,
every time i breathe

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