And she wondered, if one can really die of a broken heart.
She has a murmur; this makes two.
Selfish people collect pieces of the heart and misuse it for entertainment. Others steal for sport, then not knowing what to do next, place the pieces on display, like an animal in the zoo.
Her heart, already wild from the start, beat against the glass that held it captive. The bruises it incurred turned her arteries blue. Soon her heart became the colour of the ocean at night. It appeared abandoned, murky, and unctuous. The thought of life existing here seemed like a memory in disguise.
There were things that could have been done, steps taken or actions necessary for resuscitation but that was science. Research and discovery would have proved that this was once a vibrant living thing that radiated life, but what was science’s place in matters of love and loss?
Dedicated hard work gives way to reckless infatuation; it is safer this way.
The ocean and the heart are deserts of unknowns. They can easily be a lonely daunting world onto itself. It takes courage and bravery to explore a region whose language you can barely even speak.
An unfamiliar landscape is much like being needed it can neither be inviting nor friendly.
So she gave her heart away because it was the real traitor, anyway. She did not realize how wrong she was until, too weak to fight anymore, it died of internal bleeding. When she clapped at the victory she thought she won, she saw the blood pooling in her finger tips. Then she realized that she was dying too.
Is it still called suicide if conspirators create an environment that provokes you? Pushes until you do not even recognize yourself. The mind standing outside the cage begins to mock itself thinking “it is only a heart.” Eventually it seems natural that the weak should dominate the strong. You accept this and think the same.
