if i could only type an adequate exhale. it's like a biological purge. the exit of the unwanted. pulled in, mixed up, and spit the fuck back out. like a shodowy memory or anything you think you know. like all the dreams you tried so hard to believe could come true your breath mocks your attempts to just hold on. to keep it together. blink, it's gone. but the compression seeps away slowly. So you're confused. was it ever really there? yes. no. it exist in consequences. you move from its push, and you push back