An Inkling

 Seems like every day I can breathe a little deeper now.

So much so that I fear one of these days I'm gonna breathe in a little too deep and let go of everything, everything, in a gigantic, razing exhalation.

It's the price I pay for bringing myself back from the dead. The cry of the reborn.

Birth being the ultimate discomfort, the eviction from the ultimate safe space. Only there was no safety to come from here, I came from stillness and suffoccation into brand new shining time.

Birth has to be the ultimate fear, the only thing making it bearable being its inevitability. You can't stay still, you can't stay put, you'll stop breathing, you will die the death of a life not worth living. A death that crawls by day by day and never lets up...

I choose to live.

I choose to live even when I am staring into uncertainty, spines digging deeper into me the closer I get. I can already taste my unshed blood and my uncried tears but still... I choose to remain and impale myself meekly, in utter trust, knowing the barbs could tear me apart on separation. And I may go flying everywhere, maybe I will bless the space I used to occupy with what comes out of me, maybe I will just continue to float along the surface of the water, wherever it may take me, maybe... just maybes in this situation, but I choose to stay. Because this feels like life.

And I choose to live.