Post reblogged from A Tentaclesque Embrace with 17 notes
what if we were nothing but our own breath
like we die partly with every exhale and release a fragment of our soul into the aether
to twirl and combine with everyone else’s
until one day, we come down to the remaining morsels
and finally push from our tired bodies that one last piece of our being
to hang in contentedness for eternity like early morning mist, nestled at tree bases and toad stools