The shortness of breath comes first.
Then the taste of salt in your mouth. Hands shake now.
Sometimes I can look behind the person and see a half open door, and wish I could reach out to the handle.
They speak, and now I should, but can't.
I feel sweat on my temple.
Some moments last very long. A mist forms behind the window.
The bell has rung and we can go, I write down my crippled words.
Never to read them again.
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