Word from the Author: I was feeling so insanely random when I wrote this. //whispers// Just go with it...

Disclaimer: Ahhh... I wish.

Breathing In

You realize that you don't have to try not to think about him, 'cos thinking about him is like thinking about breathing. It's not something that you need to do. It's just what happens naturally, instinctively. It's a part of you, and of your body; it's as much you as any of your other innate biological processes. What's more, it's in everything you do, and you can't escape it.

And yet, without breathing, there is no living. Your lungs feel like they're burning, and black dots dance across your vision. The world disappears, and all that's left is the realization that you need air, desperately. You have to take a breath, or else. You'll die.

It's the same without him. When you can't breathe him in, that scent that is pure Sammy, you feel deprived, not even half-alive. All in all, it's as if you're dead on the inside. And everything around you looks and feels so dull, colours aren't as bright, and as your vision swims you wonder, how long can you hold your breath?

Four years, you discover. Four years you went, suffocating. For four years you lived in shades of grey. Wishing every single day, that it would be your last, and that maybe once you had shed this empty shell of yourself you'd find you wouldn't need to breathe. But you know, only then would you be able to give him up. Only in death would you part.

When you're dazed from oxygen-deprivation, you find, you can't help but lose sight of what you're meant to keep your eyes on. You let others take parts of you, parts meant for him alone. And you try others, like substances to nourish you, to bring life back into atrophied limbs, maybe even into that big, old muscle that's barely beating anymore. But none of them are what he was, is. Even she was nothing more than carbon dioxide, poisoning you slowly, but at the same time making you realize just how much more you want him, need him, him alone, oxygen. Oh God, please let me breathe, please.

Your blood's gone blue. You're cold-hearted when he's not there to temper you. But when you're with him, your blood boils red, an oxygenated-hemoglobin ecstasy of existence. Two compounds inextricably being joined, if only for a moment. But in that moment you're fulfilled with an abundance of nutrients rushing through your blood stream, like adrenaline, taking you high and letting you fly up, up and away. That's what he does to you.

You pass out, again and again, the whole time you're without him. Gasping for breath, every time you wake, only to find he's not there beside you. He's not there to fill you. And just like that, as soon as realization hits, in that instant you discover you can't breathe. Again. You're so short of breath, all the time. You wonder how you can form sentences, words, thoughts. Anything at all.

Then you recall, a time when you'd been breathing so hard. And you wonder whether such an occurrence is just another figment of your imagination. But then you remember that dream you'd had. The one in which he'd stayed. It's the only time you breathe nowadays. In your sleep, when he steals into your dreams, and you lie in his arms, your heart lighter, your mind clearer than ever before. You don't know whether this helps you, or makes the pain of waking just that much more cutting.

But you try your best, nonetheless, to just keep on going. Never slowing down, 'cos if you do, you've got a feeling that you'll just sputter and stop. And drop like a rock. 'Cos rocks don't breathe, right?

You know you don't need to think about him, 'cos thinking about him is like thinking about breathing. But when you can't breathe... Then, of course, breathing's all you can think about. It consumes you and your mind becomes full of nothing but thoughts of him, how much you want him, and oh god needhimsomuch... His hands, his eyes, his mouth, his touch. You just want to sit and stay and breathe him in.

When you're not breathing, you're breaking, your heart, aching something bad. You think of all that oxygen you once had, and how you let it go. It makes you want to cry and break things. And if only you had breath enough to move, you would.

But then he comes back.

And suddenly it feels like you've never been so light. You're high on pure oxygen, and laughter, and joy. Togetherness. It becomes food for your soul.

You take a deep breath, and at last, you feel whole.

You never want to be breathless again.

Oh. Except when he does that thing with his tongue...

You gasp.


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