It was like a release. A slow burner that devoured the gaseous air, leaving space for clean, new oxygen to enter. Inflamed lungs began to expand and contract, but the breath didn’t catch. The fingers didn’t squeeze down on the blue plastic contraption held tightly in the palm of a sweat lined hand. It was a moment. A moment of release. The release when you take hold of the part of you that is hidden away in a parallel universe. That compact, almost invisible mirage of feelings and thoughts that no-one gets to see. They call it Vulnerability.
But in that one moment instead of a chemical compound of steroids spurting out into the air, the fingers reached into that tiny pocket, hidden between the folds of time, the creases of ‘identity,’ and ripped Vulnerability out into reality.
Then vaseline lined lips kissed it a sweet goodbye.
And there was a release of pure air.