We take the ability to breathe for granted. It's the basic function that keeps us alive, you would have thought that we would keep a closer eye on it, that we would pay attention to how many lungfuls of air we consume every day. But we don't. We don't think about that mundane process because that is not the element of breathing that adds a spark to life; it is the thieves that trade in such banal fare that creates the interest.
For a breath once stolen is never forgotten. Whether it be by the view from a hill over a valley, or by an ancient fountain atmospherically lit, or by an extravagant castle built long ago. The memories of those precious gasps escaping from our fragile frames in awe linger in our minds long after the event.
However, every now and then, if we are fortunate, the thief is not a place or a building, but a person. It could be any person, that boy with the wicked blue eyes, that girl nervously biting her lip, that guy smiling as he passes you your drink, that lass telling a story in the corner. It is that moment of connection, surprise and passion that we never forget.
A breath once stolen can never be reclaimed.
But if you are lucky, very very lucky, to your thief, you may well be considered a thief yourself.
And that is the true blessing of breathing.


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Tommy-Louise (joined about 11 years ago)
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The loud chick in the corner.

With the big eyes.

And the notebook in her bag.

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