Seaside.

How often did I end up here. On this shore of broken stone and weeds that try to live in cracks fed by salted water. I respect those weeds, as spindly as they are, they know what it is like to struggle.

Over head the sea birds caw to some distant bit of scrap. They watch the world through their bellies. I amaze at the ferocity of these scavengers, even from here I can see them amassing. Some are scarred from bitter fights over the Holy Grail of some dropped french fry. It is a hard life to be a seagull, but I suppose there are worse things.

I marvel at the waves, how they continue to swell and die. an everlasting dance of life and death. As quickly as one goes, another comes, born of mother tides and father moon. Ceaseless, unending, even when still there is some movement. I watch and relax, allowing the swells to calm my soul.

My thoughts wander to the world. The ever-moving clock that just keeps ticking. That’s life though, isn’t it? We wake, we move, we sleep and start again. There are moments of emotion, but still…breathing is the key.

I feel my breath as it enters my lungs. I hold it and wait, counting the seconds. I feel my chest tighten, feel my lungs screaming to release the poisoned air inside them. I hold it longer, feeling the ache and pain of my body’s need. I release it in a gasp, a rush of air and a sense of relief.

I shake my head. I failed again.

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