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breath
I don't know how I remain living when my life is so consumed by death.
Even breathing can become hard for me.
The intake and outpour of life in something that seems so natural.
It's automatic for me, but yet it seems like it must be hard.
How could something seemingly so simple be the indicator of life.
Is it really that hard to do?
To just keep breathing?
Why did you stop? Did it become to hard?
I know it's wrong to question why you and nobody else.
The car took your breath and life along with it as it tumbled across the road.
I can't help but miss you now.
The life you led, your caring heart, and your brutal truth.
I miss you with every breath.
