I used to be a sick kid. Thank God, I’m better. I had asthma for a while when I was little and it would strike with a horrible sentiment that I’d receive an attack and become breathless. It vacated until I became 16, I don’t remember… I don’t want to, in fact. What a dream. Keen to this doze, this face of mine on this cool cushion and out of nowhere at 3 a.m. I need air like never before. I came to the realization of how crucial air is, I mean I do know how much air is needed but this time was different. This obnoxious attack occurred all the times I went to bed. I couldn’t drift into another dream. Unable to find solitude as I close the curtains of this face, I was traumatized. After some time, I healed from it.  ’til this dawn, it hasn’t startled me. Nevertheless, I still fear it, that whenever I see someone else with the same occurrence I fear for them.



Will I ever overcome this illness? I was clinical. I weep. Prayer was mom’s answer.