Heartbeat

I am placing my right hand on my chest, and I can feel my heart beating underneath the ribs. Heartbeats. Irregular heartbeats. It was an overwhelming week for me. Or weeks. I am being very observing of these parts of my body. The organs. The cells. I am observing how they are responding to this chemical substance that is responsible for the sadness I am feeling. It is strange how fleeting images of certain people--certain scenes from my life--flash right before my eyes. When I am clearly digesting that one single line from the book. When I am concentrating on that heart-wrenching murder scene. When I am distractedly gazing at my shaking hand. I keep feeling my heartbeat. I keep noticing my breathing. Is that how a heartache feels like? 

Comments

gäãra-dě-sañd said…
you are dying! congrats!
May 30, 2016 at 11:08 AM
Sopheary said…
Not understanding clearly enough. So you had a tiring week, then you read a book about murder, and your heart was beating because of the story in the book?
May 31, 2016 at 10:05 AM
gäãra-dě-sañd said…
no.. he's dying! At least, I hope he's dying.
May 31, 2016 at 9:47 PM
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