It's not unaware to me that I am not the air you would like to breathe. My atmosphere is too heavy, too overwhelming. Hers is as light as the snowflakes intertwined with her hair. She's an object of attraction, while my features are outweighed by my abyss of a soul. You can not own me, like you want to possess her. Her vessel is purely physical, mine is as solid as the howling wind. My air is pressurizing. Her air is enough to breathe safely.