There are very few processes that
I can’t go a day without, and they go hand in hand:
One. Breathing.
Two. Thinking of you.
Sometimes I take a breath—

and I think that maybe this time I’m lucky enough
to inhale the air you exhaled.

Maybe,
just maybe,
the oxygen circulating through my bloodstream
is the same oxygen that once circulated through yours.
And for some reason that makes me feel a little closer to you.

Confession: You breathe so loudly and it used to
piss me off.
Monumentally.
But now it is comforting to know that
each time I hear you breathe—

I am assured of your existence.
Each time I hear you breathe—

I know the particles of our breaths are mingling in the air.
I know that even though we are three feet apart,
we are still touching, connecting, holding, caressing, feeling, together—

I never want to hold my breath again.

So when I say you are my atmosphere:
I say you are my everything,
you are my everywhere;
you wrap around my world and protect me from evil things like
UV rays and meteorites and
insecurities.
And even though sometimes they find their way to me,
bringing sunburns and bruises and
ugly, sleepless nights,
I need only take a breath—

of that fresh laundry smell I’ve grown accustomed to
and I am okay.
I will breathe you in until my very last breath, until we become the air ourselves.