04:55 pm - Ingrid Michaelson and Gary Jules
I stopped breathing for a moment.
It just stopped. My lungs lost their elasticity and nothing moved in me for a moment. I tried to remember how to breathe.
God, air hurts.
There are days that you are eighty-eight feet tall until somebody breaks your shins with hammer like news. There are days that you are so excited to continue with until the rain pours down from an already gray sky. There are days that you remember all the things you had promised yourself to look past, and you stop breathing.
Why does it hurt to breathe?
Yeah, he was sometimes an ass, but so are the rest of us. Reach out for twenty seconds to help the boy from falling and shattering his body.
I think I'm breathing again. It's slow. I'm nervous. I'm sad. I'm worried.
Apologies are not near as poignant from 4,000 miles away, but I can't think of anything else I can do. There is a loss and everyone is coming to help. I'm here, just as silent as the rest of them. Hugs don't mean the same thing when you can't touch a person.
I hate death. So much death... what can men do against such reckless hate?
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