To breathe is to take the first step onto a moving escalator, certain you are going to fall. But there is never a second step. Just the first step, over and over again. Each just as disorienting as the last.
To breathe is to become uncomfortably aware of the physical nature of the cells of your own body. How wet and squelchy they are. How easily they could be pierced, burst, contaminated.
To breathe is to see the Arctic in every other human's eyes. To be looked at is like a knife to your throat, waiting for you to slip up.
To breathe is to breathe in poison, and breathe out exhaustion.
