i could smell him on my seatbelt.

so much more about this doesn’t event exist yet. it’s like a floating moment, that confusion in your memory between a dream and real life. it’s taking time to find it out, falling over each sound and feeling and other. a desperate attempt to realise the time and the energy and pace of it all. the undeniable brilliance of all those little things.

remembering the breath, but finding it so easily. steadying the rhythm. the beat of it. then letting it go, one piece at a time.

butterflies fly.


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