Air For life

He couldn’t breathe. Her memories choked him and he struggled to wake up from his transcendental state. He grabbed his phone and frantically punched her number into the call line. Her number, pictures, all physical traces had been erased. Still, they were on the tip of his tongue at any given moment. her number was seared into his memory as if by cattle prod. his fingers moved quickly, texting a message of hope and forgiveness, of pain and joy. he sat and read it. Again. And again. And again. He saved it to his drafts, then locked it. There, with 39 other texts left to wait for his strength and resolve to gather up, his latest message sat.
She had stopped responding three months earlier. This fact alone turned his stomach into knots. But the dreams. They wouldn’t cease. He had stopped sleeping for the first two months after she was gone, but sleeping aids were the current cause of his problems. They weren’t supposed to let you dream. he didn’t know if he was dreaming, or simply meditating.

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