It had been a typical Sunday… Email, FB, The New York Times, Huffington Post… and then the reading of more articles… and books. There was brunch… and the nap beside her soft warm skin.
But it was his mind he worried about.
Always inhaling. Always intaking.
Words, ideas, information, letters, images, pictures, concepts… He thought that if his head were a home it would be just like the ones the EMR people can’t save lives in due to the incessant hoarding of things blocking the hallways and rooms from the sick person’s heart.
He knew he must exhale… he must force himself to put forth from his mind words ideas and images…. pictures and concepts. He must find a voice and that way…
His way to say all those things that must be said if they would ever be said. Or he would suffocate…
And so he sat and exhaled… 490 things he began exhaling.