The heat presses into my flesh. The heaviness convincing me not to breathe too deeply. Perhaps it is not the air but my thoughts that suffocate. Do I feel this way because you are thinking of me, too, at this very moment? The power of two multiplied by thousands of tears could cause the atmosphere to shift, I suppose … although I understand very little of science. I only comprehend the loss that fills the seconds that have passed since you last touched me with lips that hungered and fingers restless with need. Did I sate you that day, so long ago? Calm the thirst to feed another with fountains of seed? Did the Earth crash around your heart, building a wall that you refuse to allow me to see? I can’t breathe. Not in this fog of memory. It’s not my breathing I need to suppress, but my soul’s desire to hear your answers.