You know this because you've been here before. Sometimes it isn't enough just to live. How can it ever be enough? And so you court the other thing, that old thing in new clothes, you chase it into a corner where it skulks, red-eyed, haunted. Then, thwarting your pitiful attempts at control, that very thing renders you impotent and the time comes when you can't breathe, when that simple, automatic act of pulling and pushing air is derailed, even if you haven't physically moved for the past several hours. How could your breath betray you so; why do your lungs huddle into themselves as if bracing for a bitter wind that will never come?
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