The pressure of live-giving breath falls heavy on these shoulders. The smoldering fires of souls that are born with a clean page, away from their deliverance or downfall of shame, may be blessed with the power to grow stronger and louder. How they fathom their dreams of their potential realities is a blessing within itself, being limitless, unobscene. Addressing each other unknowingly, having only recollections in their later lives introspection, is what it means to be a soul, more than a part of a whole. And no not one may go without knowing at some point their fire was given, their living was granted. Their chest having risen was my breath implanted, and that hand that created was the hand life demanded. And this pressure, this weight, this great burden of live-giving presence manifests in the recesses of their minds. Deep back in the cavernous expanses of thought, back deeper than life-giving touch, and down further within the thin slivers of sensation and unconscious palpitations. Therin lies the source of their breath and the presence of all they are and will be. Their potential realities and dreams, endless dreams.