Ana

t w e n t y

t w e n t y

when you inhale, I fill your lungs

----------------

I'm twenty when the pain settles in.

And she's right there to reassure me, because pain is gain, and

we

are

gaining

and we are so. Damn. Close. To being enough.

I'm sinking fast now, as life preservers land all around me. But I'm already ten feet under, and all I can do is look up and watch as they float on the surface, and wish I could do the same.

And still, she asks for more. Being good enough doesn't come without a price.

I'm twenty, and she is still nameless, faceless, unattainable in a way that captivates me. I want to know her like she knows me, but for every step I take toward her she takes two back.