Breathing for Bleeding

Leave me breathing because I forgot how to bleed. You are nowhere and everywhere to me, but I suppose both are somewhere. I just don't know how to find you.

I suppose that the distance is a good thing, just a shadow of situations to come. I breathe in the space, feeling my pulse stutter and simmer, stroking the inside of my skin in the hopes of escape.

Without you, everything seems quiet.

But then, I suppose that the aftermath of an explosion is always quiet in comparison.

So I breathe, the desperate sound like silk on satin, the murmur of blood passing through capillaries like the whisper of a creek. I wanted to bleed last night; the explosion scraped me raw. But at some point since meeting you, I forgot how to shed so much as a single ruby seed.