In silence I sit and realize that half of my breath is absent.
The air enters my throat but doesn’t seem to completely fill my lungs as it once did. Something is missing.
As my thoughts attempt to follow the same path traveled for so many years the absence of full breath redirects their progress and brings them to the developing brick path that is being newly paved over a more solid foundation, I cannot go there anymore, all detours have been closed and the old path has worn away.
There’s a numbness to this pain. So many years, waste is a word that has begun to enter my mind as I look to where the new path might possibly lead and yet even that word is numb as it enters my thoughts.
It is real this time, it has a momentum that is pressing my sanity and my growth. And so I sit in the silence and know that this absence of breath is real, it is not numbing, it is empty and lonely and silent and curious all wrapped up together. It is real.