The air that I breathe.

I write these words as my story, a story that I can paint on my bruised skin, a story that thrives within the depths of my soul, a story that is a desperate attempt to derive meaning.

I inhale this static substance around me as sharply I can, and I feel it burn inside me. The air I breathe is not crafted out of a hollow nothingness, it is not mere molecules that move vigorously ; the air I breathe provokes an impulsing curiosity, it calls upon me to hear the soundless whispers of silence, it calls upon me to search for hope in a sea of torture, it calls upon me to look for the faintest bit of humanity in faces that seem to be set in stone and hearts that are an embodiment of merciless barbarity.

There is something about this air that I find oddly intriguing. Its capacity to be both chaotic and serene is what marvels me. I want to listen to what it has to say and just be there in it , not moving, not fearing for how many streams of blood might flow before the numbness drives the pain away, not recognizing the lurking beasts that hide within these folds of darkness, not letting the disgust I feel inside resurface over these apparently calm waters. I find its caress to be therapeutic, as if it has a way of healing my inner turmoil.

I have searched for this soothing caress in the granite peaks that soar upwards in an attempt to reach the endless skies, I have searched for it in the withering pastures of tarnished green, I have searched for it in the dampness of the soil, that has become too malleable, too extremely pliable, but most of all I have searched for it in the leaves that fall elegantly from tangled branches, dying slowly somewhere in between this merciless maze of reality yet its tone, its dance is so alive even though its existence is nothing more than a fading light. I have searched for it almost everywhere but the only place I have been able to found it is within my own self, within the air that I breathe.

It feels as it has so much to say, and there is something about the way it slowly whispers into my ears, ears that are marred by a sound of broken limbs being dragged mercilessly across an unforgivably hard concrete, ears that are marred by shattering screams that speak of terror, helplessness and pain, a pain that is awfully raw and unfortunately human. But the most heart wrenching of all, is the disturbing sound of stifled sobs that pierces through this pristine silence, a silence that says so much in its desperate need to stay quiet.

But there is this ignorant part of me that seems to be expanding in space, breaking through instead of shrinking inside. A part that knows that there are going to be tremendous losses, and a lot more painful nights, but what it says is to embrace it,Β to let it break you down, to let it create a void inside you, but in that helpless void it wants for me to feel my vulnerability, to understand the part that is broken, irreparable, tragically damaged for this really is the kaleidoscope of my being, the foundation of my actuality.

It tightly holds my hand, and in its touch I feel like the air knows it all, it knows of every scar, every ache that pollutes my fragile soul but it does nothing to fight it, or defeat it, it just holds me strong against the ravaging storm, against the piercing realization. And its touch, it essence heals, it builds me up slowly, and steadily, it give me sense of security, one that would make any lost soul like mine feel as if they belonged.

And no this is not beautifully tragic, it is just the beauty that remains, the tragedy an insignificantly distant shadow fading into the blackness of the night.

The air I breathe fills me with a sense of courage, and I can feel it coarse through my veins like a fast flowing river, completely unstoppable, it corrodes at the doubt, the angst welling up inside me. And I feel this urgency inside me like I need to be quick, I need to make things work while I can still sense it, while the audacity, the fearlessness is still prevalent, still alive inside me.

It recreates it self from its profound invisibility. It calls upon me to know the moments that exist beneath our perception of life, the lives that emerge from under this ugliness around us, the worlds that exist beyond hatred and conflict.



21 Replies to “The air that I breathe.”

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