On Having a Heart Break

And the news came, he got a heart attack. He went numb, and could barely breath. His breathing was heavy and he twisted and turned. And the stomach pain didn't help much but to make the anxiety even more. He was on the verge of tears with all these agony, part of him refuse to believe that he's finally got it, yet part of him force him to believe and accept the fact.

2 hours later, he cried. Finally.

And he had a temporary relief.

Until the news spread to his family members where the old folks' called to ask him how he's doing and to console him. Stand up! It's just a small exam from God. You must be strong. You have to!

But it didn't really make him feel better. And he cried even more. And he found it's harder to breath.

He went out with his soulmate for a heart to heart talk. He felt suffocated. And really tired. He felt like giving up. Until the soulmate slapped him and told him to face the reality, avoiding wasn't the solution.

He reached home, finding his stuff scattered around. The same old room where he used to lock himself up for 2 weeks. And he felt suffocated again. He wanted to cry for the temporarily relieve the tears could give, but the stomach pain was so bad he had to bend over and lie down. And that's when he felt he's finally sick.

Sick from the heart break. Sick from the disappointment. Sick from trying.

So when his old folk's called again to ask him to go home to their arms the next day. He refused. And the interrogation begins leading to more tears when he finally lost his patience and shouted. The neighbours must've heard it, but he couldn't take the heart break any longer. He was in so much of agony he couldn't find words to substitute. He tossed the ideas of quitting and suicide, to which he thought would be a good way. Since he was, after all, such a big disappointment.

And he finally broke down, again.

He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to react. And for once in a lifetime, he felt himself dying. Slowly.

He... is me.