*The day I stopped apologizing

*The day I stopped apologizing for breathing* The breeze sounds like a favour, while some call it savour. It strikes when some are still grieving, when some are still beefing. Sorrow and tears go beyond the gift of breeze, it strikes the old, the small, and still brings unease. But I learnt to breathe through the ache, to hold the light even when my hands shake. If the breeze is here, then I’m still here too — and that’s enough to start anew.