I wake up counting every breath like proof I didn’t leave. Each one heavier than the last, each one says “stay and see”. They call it strength to still be here, to face another day. I call it just the body refusing to decay. “STILL HERE?” Between the wish to fade away and the habit to remain I breathe. BREATHING! No god behind the noise I hear. No reason in the pulse. Just lungs that move on instinct, like a poorly wired switch. They say “at least you’re still alive”, as if that ends the fight. Alive is just a word for not giving up tonight. “ENOUGH YET?!” Between the fear of disappearing and the fear of staying long I breathe. BREATHING! “FOR WHAT?!” “FOR HOW LONG?!” “WHO SAID THIS WAS A GIFT?!” Not salvation. Not a sign. Just air and passing time. BREATHING! BREATHING! Still breathing. That’s it.
