I have breathed you into me, and feel you fill my lungs with such presence that you do not escape; you stay a pressure in my chest. And it hits me: what have I been doing all this while? When this is what it must really feel like to breathe.

I am at last living.

And then you seep into my bloodstream and you trail your touch throughout every inch of my body. You know me. For once I feel the tingling warmness of being alive. Suddenly everything simply makes sense.

You become imperative to me. You are wired into me. My senses know you. Every neuron in my body labours for you. Every instinct an effort to make you smile, laugh, to make you happy and to keep you safe. It becomes a reflex, second nature.

You are innate to me.

With this pressure in my chest, what do I need with air?