Air In My Lungs

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Literary Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
What does it mean to live? To really live?

Submitted: September 20, 2014

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Submitted: September 20, 2014

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“Air in my Lungs”

In and out.

In and out.

Over and over again, from your first moments alive to your last.

In and out.

Breathe.

To breathe is to be alive, but nothing more than that. I shudder to think this is all I shall do: Breathe and survive.

No.

I cannot simply ‘be alive’.

I must live.

I cannot go through the motions of life on this earth while shrouded in a fog of numbness and ignorance.

I must feel.

To feel is synonymous with living, truly living, with both eyes open and every synapse firing at full capacity; fingertips tingling at the slightest touch, drinking in every tiny detail of the universe around.

I refuse to live blinded and deaf to the life and music that lies under my feet and drifts through the air around me. I cannot be like those who hear the song of the birds in the air, as sweet and clear as the song of Heaven itself, and perceive only noise.

I pity the one who ignores the part of him that lies buried deep inside of his soul that screams to feel something, anything.

But man can change, can he not? He who is dead can be made alive once more?

The paradox is true.

I am testimony to it.

 

In and out.

In and out.

Over and over again, from my first moments alive to my last.

In and out.

I will breathe.

And I will live.


© Copyright 2018 HarleyMarie. All rights reserved.

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