Two Hundred Thirty-Eight

The rhythm of breath is impossible. Nothing can be so constant, so unwavering, as the breath from one’s lungs. It is simply inconceivable; nothing can maintain that perpetual pace without pause. Except, perhaps, the beating of the heart. Or the eye’s desire to see beyond the present.

About John Swinburn

"Love not what you are but what you may become."― Miguel de Cervantes
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