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Losing my BreathIt's 2amand the calling birds are hatching in my heart, I feel it crack and they emerge. Feel them drilling on my ribs, the steady anxious thrum of a flight risk waiting to happen.It's 3am and I can't breathe, memories of you are nesting in my throat and now I can't work around them. It's cutting off the circulation, and my frantic heart tries to keep on.It's 5am and tears scratch their directions into my cheeks, they flounder and meanderand they erode. My skin and soul is scraped down layer by layer to nought.It's 8am and another day is heralded by the angry flutterings in my chest. I try to swallow my pride, dam the tears and crawl through the dark again.Coughing up bloodand inhaling iron filings(The remainder of what used to be my life).
The DescriptionHe drinks coffeelikeits the art of seduction,and quite honestlywhen he does itit might as well be.You'll catch himfrowning into itas he hastily scribblesin a notebookwindswept words,his attemptsto make the worldbetter.El cambia a españolen la mitad del fraseand I don't thinkhe even realises.He loves the worldso wildlythat to be a part of itleaves you feelingstarstruckand astonished.He makes the world seembiggerto contain his loveand when he smiles,I smile,because he reminds methat there is hopeto be had.For the world,for myself.For people like us.He is soil,(not pebble).Salt of the earth,the rootsof everything goodthat will grow fromknowing him.He is a ramshackledunintentional artist;waking up tothe realisation thathe is an innovator;and that his passionfor peoplecould change the world.