Breathe For Me

Your chest rises,

a slow tide pulling in,

a rhythm so deliberate

it feels like a command.

There’s surrender in the way

your head tilts back,

as though gravity itself bends

to the weight of your release.

I wonder—

is that exhale for yourself,

or for the world watching?

The stillness in your body

seems too heavy

to belong to only one moment.

Your breath fills the room

without a sound,

a silent pulse that resonates deeper

than words ever could.

I see the tension unwind in your shoulders,

the quiet power lingering there—

not broken, not soft,

but measured.

It’s the kind of stillness

that demands attention,

that holds space

for everything unsaid.

Breathe for me,

so I can feel the weight

of what you’re letting go.

Breathe for me,

so I can understand

what it means to hold something

so tightly,

only to surrender it

into the open air.

This moment isn’t yours alone.

It lingers in the spaces between us,

shared without touch,

without words.

Each inhale calls me closer,

each exhale leaves me undone.

Don’t stop.

Breathe for me,

until I forget where I end

and you begin.