I don't own Twilight, Stephanie Meyer does. I also don't own the dictionary definitions, Mr. Webster does.
Also, if you'd like to suggest a word for me to use or a character or something…suggest it. I love suggestions.
This story is also told from Jasper's point of view.
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breath•ing
Noun 1: the process of taking air into and expelling it from the lungs
There it was, starring back at me like the definition from hell. Maybe, not hell, maybe somewhere located oddly near it or something along those lines. Still, there was something about looking at the words that were typed onto the paper that made it feel as though someone had punched me in the stomach. I could no longer breathe and therefore every time I saw this word as I peered through the pages, it always made me have a strange urge to slam the old dictionary together and to tear apart the already broken binding. But, I couldn't. The words meant so much more to me than anyone could have imagined. For one, they gave me a reason to be angry.
I shouldn't be angry. I've come to terms with this. But, for everyone's safety and health, one should always have a moment when they are angry and slam on doors and raise their voice and this book, these words; they gave me an excuse to slam my fist into the floor. I couldn't breathe anymore. But, the more I had thought about it, the more I realized I could still do it. In the more metaphorical sense.
After all, what is the point of breathing without something or someone to provide a reason for it in the first place? Breathing is unnecessary and unneeded, much like life, if there isn't some sort of reason for it. I've got all the reasons and then some; I just don't have the physical action. Sure, I can still breathe, but there is no air in my lungs and there never will be again.
But I've got Alice and I've known for so many years that I don't need to breathe if I have her sitting on my lap with her overly-excitable manner and the way her nose scrunches up when something baffles her in such a way. I like to think that Alice has taken up all the breathing I have left; I don't need air when I have her. But, sometimes, I second-guess myself. I wonder what I would have been without Maria, I think of the life I could have lead and these kinds of thoughts scare me.
Would I honestly rather be human than be in love? It's a hard question to answer. But…I just want to know what it feels like to hold my child in my arms and grow old and even death sometimes seems like it would be nice. Not, that I'm overly emotional or suicidal. It's just, another thing to tack onto the list of things I'll never be able to do.
A lot like breathing.