Exhaling you

I breathe in bits and pieces of my day until they fill me up.

The old lady yelled at me for no reason other than that I was young. Breathe in.

It’s been a month, and my best friend is yet to text me back. Breathe in.

The crippling thought that I’ll never be good enough, no matter how hard I try, settles in half an hour before a presentation. Breathe in.

The itch in my throat that has successfully overstayed its welcome just worsened on day ten. Breathe in.

I don’t even realise I’m holding my breath all day long.

Inhale, inhale, inhale — until I can’t take more oxygen in my chest, until I feel like I’ll implode inside-out, until I might as well be underwater, flapping my arms.

And then, out of nowhere, an unexpected exhale.

You sent me a text of your smiling face at three in the afternoon, snapped sneakily in the middle of a meeting. Breathe out.

A delivery of chocolate-covered almonds shows up at my door. I told you I was craving sugar an hour ago. Breathe out.

I see you getting out of your car, looking at the ground, then looking at me, and then smiling like you’d seen me for the very first time. Breathe out.

You take me in, bury me in your embrace, and kiss my cheek, forehead, and lips in three quick swipes before anyone notices. Breathe out.

I exhale deep into the air, into your neck, and I think this, this is what it must feel like for all those that almost drowned at the very second they came up for fresh air.