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SCARED TO BREATHE.

this is an account of Kasper, a close friend of mine that i’ve come to know personally through time. i have a hard time maintain a sense of continuity with who he is and what he’s been through so i'll do what i can to stay true to the source material. 

this is all being recounted as the thoughts emerge; no form at all to it.

this is also difficult to keep track of.

anyway, i remember one time Kasper told me a story about the first time he visited a certain mall since the break up – had the affection of an adoring quirk of a girl long enough to last the duration of a bachelor’s degree but lost it slowly over time, and suddenly, all at once. 

whenever we talk about it, he sounds every bit as grateful as he does full of regret. the hardest thing about love, he said, is actually the simplest – don’t mess up. i mean, how hard could it be, right? you like this person a lot and, spoiler alert, they like you back a lot so it should be virtually impossible to do anything that might endanger it.

lmao grow up pls.

i remember Kasper saying walking through the mall at his leisurely pace was like sauntering through his own mind with the smell of all those great memories – like he could see them happen in the past from the what the past would call the future; the overcast present.

he found joy in the little moments; window shopping when they had no money and actually shopping when they did. i'm sure if you put their wardrobe side by side, you wouldn’t have much to tell them apart. in fact, you wouldn't have much to tell them apart full stop. 

they say when a woman finds a male version of herself, she should stop looking because that's the man of her dreams but what if that woman doesn't even know the female version of herself? Kasper told me that your partner is an extension of your inner world made manifest and it shows - ask him who is and if he believes it.

i remember Kasper saying to me that his mind was like a bloodhound's nose combing through different scents to find a familiar one but never found it. he felt a great mass of pain swell in his throat and, his words, said that keeping his eyes open was like trying to see clearly underwater. he kept his body moving through the mall but held his lungs because he was scared to breathe, scared to believe that things could ever be bright and warm, let alone okay.

our talk went on for hours until i finally said to him "why don't you put your verbal linguistic intelligence to creative use and blog your way into healing and recovery?"

he said back to me "funny you should say that, i only have a blog because it was a school project and i haven't touched it since i finished"...

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