Her lungs were a bellows with no air. Pacing, hands darting, thoughts racing, catastrophes forming. Unable to settle, yet wanting to hide. Instead, she sought, her quiet place. Stillness. Breathing. In. Out. If chaos screamed, she let it scream, let it fade away while she focused on breathing. Her lungs, expanding, contracting. Her thoughts quieting. Her shoulders relaxing. Her in control. ©June 2017, April 2021 Christina Anne Hawthorne
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