Numerous times in a day, I feel out of breath; suffocated. An acute paroxysm to my left, it must be my heart; and no matter how I hit at it the pain refuses to go away. It lingers. So I gasp for air despite being surrounded by it. I fear to breathe, but I need to. It is excruciating to breathe, but I need to. With each episode I concede this is how I will go. Out of air.

I got out of the car, and sat by the sidewalks and waited. I trace the windows to your floor and watched your light. This too feels familiar. If I had called, the night might have ended with a different scene.

I withdraw those hallucinations from my head and lit my cigarette. It is that allure and this sentence which summarizes the predicament: “They want me. I want you. And you want someone else. But none of us want to turn around.” - Iain Thomas

Then I thought about that instant, when I held your eyes, and I knew… I was not orthodox.