February 12th

Each second, our chests rise and fall as we breathe in and out with predictability. So how can we expect our lives to be any different. We build up everything to that one moment of perfection and then it all seems to fall. But sure enough, it will rise again.
Except
for these times where our hearts beat fast and our breath seems to stop, proving to us that perfection can last for more than just a moment.
And that's what I want to live for.
The times that my heart beats wild and my rhythmatic breath loses its rhythm and the peak of perfection becomes a flatline.

Pencils Shouldnt Exist

I've got post upon post of edited, rewritten and revised writing. This ones a little different. I've been wanting to post this for a while, but typing took away the entire meaning.
So here it is, the first and only draft. October 16th.