Breathless

She does it once every year, always in winter. This is the ritual. Wait for a day when there is a mist over the water. Take the ferry. Stand near the chest of salt to clear the ice and picture him. See how his breath lingered, hanging white in the air when he first talked to you. How his body took off on his bicycle. Then, in your mind, do what you did then. Watch closely to see if he looks over his shoulder. Then quickly suck in the last white cloud of words. Keep it in your lungs. Walk home and hold your breath as long as you can. Until you feel dizzy. Because he is still inside you.

Text © Pascal Panis