We watch her chest slowly rise and fall and then stop. We freeze. Tears spring to our eyes. Silence deafens us. Our faces crumble. Our lips quiver and our hearts break. We hesitantly look at each other.
And then she breaths again.
There is nothing to writing. Just sit down at a typewriter and bleed. Ernest Hemingway
We watch her chest slowly rise and fall and then stop. We freeze. Tears spring to our eyes. Silence deafens us. Our faces crumble. Our lips quiver and our hearts break. We hesitantly look at each other.
And then she breaths again.