8-4-7
Or was it 4-7-8
She didn’t remember.

Inhale
Hold
Exhale

It didn’t matter.
No matter how she did it,
It brought her to that place.

That place escaped her from unrequited love,
A success clock tirelessly ticking,
And notions her mind drew up.
A wild imagination,
That ate her flesh,
And threw what was left in an everlasting pit.
It was the same consciousness,
However,
That took her to that place.

Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.

If she is the hider,
Who is the seeker?

A place she transits to,
But does not live.
Not only her,
But a collective consciousness,
Where her physical body wanders.

An airport at dawn,
A gas station late at night,
A high school on a holiday.

A hot bed for activity,
But not this very moment.

Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.

An empty pool,
A stadium with no spectating,
A closed movie theater,
An empty intersection,
A beach at night,
A mall after closing time.

Inhale.
A playground engulfed in fog.
Hold.
An abandoned hotel hallway.
Exhale.

Just to open her eyes,
And find herself far from the liminal stage,
Back at that rite of passage,
Like a child at a new school,
Itching to get into a group of friends.

Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.