My hollow chest holds this pair of collapsing lungs, trying to take form with each inhale. Try and fail, try and fail, try and fail! The wind that creeps inside pushes these walls to capacity. It burns on arrival, and soothes on departure. To hold it all inside, erect and full form, my lungs can’t handle. They’re too weak to stand tall, too weak to hold it all inside. When I release they collapse. A “sigh of relief” they call it because it’s no longer inside of you eating you up. There they lay lifeless and limp, inside of my chest, until I must do it all again. Breathe in, it burns, breathe in, still burns, almost full, almost there, try and fail, try and fail, try and achieve! With practice these lungs have grown strong, the air they consume gives them their form. They begin to take shape, appear healthy and alive. But I must release, knowing that I’ll make room for the next wind storm, the next round of fire. My lungs are solid like iron now, they cannot burst. I’ve taken it in, processed it, released. It’s made me stronger, wiser, and more prepared. The next time my lungs start to expand I’ll be ready, I know what’s coming. It burns, but it only reveals what this chest can hold, and how no one can hold this chest down.
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