breathless
Sometimes I get the breath clean knocked out of me by possibilities. Made breathless by the future. By imagining the possibilities of the future. By a song. By a word, any word, multiple words, learning new words, stringing old words together to make new thoughts. By the past. By memories and heartache and ecstasy. By the thought of the summer and the scalding, burning, scorching heat it will bring and the sweet, sweet relief of sinking to the bottom of the deep end. By tattoos, paint and glitter pens. By loving someone and by learning not to love them anymore. By moments of music and dancing. By imperfection and my favorite places and things and childhood and musical instruments and jazz and soccer.
But mostly by possibilities.
