you gently, carefully, smooth the hair on your forearms, with fingers delicate and moonlight pale. somehow isolated, you take time with your fastidious task, though you sit in the very center of this crowded, silent room, (a seat you chose instinctively, without a second thought).
you stare, focused, waiting, your body rooted securely in the proper place. your calves, snugly held by darkened denim, lead to delicate ankles, the foundation for your controlled, practiced breathing. you are patient, immune to the paralyzing fear of defeat, though you know well the persistent failure that follows every last attempt.
you sleep. strong chest rising, soft skin appearing blue in the dim artificial light. the warmth of your shoulder quietly radiates as it moves slightly with each breath. careful not to wake you, I match your motions with my own, and we breathe together, shoulders touching.