Nice, France 2018

Swallowed by the well of thought; amongst the sediments of cobbled ruins and worn glass, I concave into purples and pinks. Chilled by the mothers breath I am left with the sweet songs of tension. Pulled by the moon, pushed by gravity. I am numb to the tension, invigorated by my pulse. I am left to melt, swelling into pools of grief. aspirer... expirer... I breathe in fire laced air, ignited by salt. My raw skin burns reminding me of my demons. I am forced to exhale extinguishing the fire, allowing each limb of weight on my shoulder break one by one. Between fire and release what is left is my being: she is still, she is grateful, she is loved.