Practice my breathing. I just need to practice my breathing. If I practice my breathing then maybe I’ll learn how to let myself be okay.

If I could take every night sky and bottle it up- I’d carry it with me to feel less sad about the vastness between me and everything I love. It’s desolate. The world says, “drown” and we begin to swim. But I can’t even tread water so I float in the middle of the mess and pray for a landing to wash up onto.

You feel this way too, right ? Because if you don’t then tell me your trick. I’ll tell you truths and you’ll tell me lies because we both know that no one gets out of here unscathed.

Nighttime is my version of healing. It’s watching the streets set fire to the nightfall. I touch the embers on my fingertips and say, “fuck you” to everything burning. It’s just a bunch of pieces that don’t fit in the center so I float on and on like a lost thought. Remember the feeling of feeling okay- it’s a feeling you can’t live without. I take a deep breath and taste the smoke. Fall back in a bed of embers and rise like a fucking Phoenix. Breathing fire. Lighting a path above the waters that beautifully tried to carry me. Landing next to the moon.

There are millions of reasons why I should light the entire world on fire, but I pick and choose what burns. And if you put me in an urn then you’ll have to earn the right to unleash the good because the bad will be here for the taking.

It falls gently still after a wreckage – I promise. Practice my breathing. I just need to practice my breathing. If I practice my breathing then maybe I’ll learn how to let myself be okay.