In night's sky, the ocean is pulled back deep within itself, sunken and swollen. Feet are sinking in the sand with every step, and the smell of fish grows on the olfactory sense. Perched on a wooden lifeguard tower, feet dangling in the breeze, it is her favorite place to be at night. The scene is familiar to Chicago, the Pier and it's liveliness. Two breaths, inhale, exhale.

She wipes tears away as if she were picking up pieces of broken glass. Inbetween the screaming of lyrics and thinking about what it all used to mean, breathing seemed so foreign, and I just forgot how to. So she glances back in my direction, glasses removed from the eyes, face contorted in some awkward shape, but she still smiles.

Together we stand atop an entire city. In the distance the orange lights seem to twinkle more frequently. Now and then there are cars like shooting stars that dart across the darkness. So I stand, I inhale, and it is beauty. I didn't forget to breath this time.