The Heavy Breath in the Cold Air

Dear Delyara, I had to check the padlock on the secondary oil store at 4:30 AM, and as I walked back across the open yard, my breath came out in thick, white plumes that hung in the air for a second before shattering in the wind. I stopped under the main spotlight and just watched my own lungs work. In, out. In, out. It looked like smoke from a dying engine. When you are this exhausted, your body stops feeling like an instrument of your will and starts feeling like a machine that is slowly running out of fuel. I looked down at my hands, raw and red from the damp wind, and felt a deep, overwhelming wave of tenderness for my own physical body—for how hard it is fighting to keep me moving forward when I am giving it nothing but caffeine and stress.