I take a breath and make it mine as it courses through my animate airways. Alive, I still give off a certain warmth and am probably oh-so-soft inside. On the outside, I’m softer than I might seem, as good as a pastry, a warm thing of varnished wax as alluring as an opening line. Every cell reproduces itself, independent of me, and in doing so reproduces me, fashioning me into a proper entity.
