Forgetting to Breathe

On nights when the moon shines brightly and the moonbeams swallow my every exhalation, I pretend. Never for long. Never forever. I imagine myself with her of the dark swirling shawls and alabaster features, the one who’ll love me forever. I smile and close my eyes, but I always wake.
She’s the one at the end of a heartbeat, the girl with hollowed-out eyes. She’s eternity in a sweeping, celestial moment, forgotten to most, but never to me.
I’ll know her when the others falter. As millions tumble into abyssal pits or spiral in updrafts the opposite way, I’ll cling to the cliffs like an eagle, fractured granite marking my way. My free hand will reach out and she’ll take it in her bones for fingers. She has to! She must! And I’ll let go without hesitation, the already cold blood in my veins burning a hello.
“Take me,” I’ll plead.
“You’re already there,” she’ll whisper.
And I’ll smile, sing, pass on without protestation. I will, my friends. For life is the dream and death the reality. How I hate not forgetting to breathe.

The End

Thank you for reading

Richard