Mouth breathes in again, having forgotten, as we all do sometimes, that something which is so important. Essential. And with each breath? A pulse, an om, a bass, Ament. Vedder accompanies:
Sleep only had time for the ethereal, the subconscious tangential, not time for the latency of metal. Sleep only had time for dreams and, conveniently, the last few days boiled down to nothing but Fleetwood Mac on repeat.
Remembering the first time the heart skipped a beat may pose a challenge. But remembering the first time the xx induced my heart to swallow itself whole? Not a damn problem.