That is the sound of her heartbeat.
Each beat equals a new crevice.
And from it, blood pours out.
Blood that is supposed to reach the other parts of her body – it is supposed to make the other parts function properly…
But that’s not important.
Her blood isn’t important.
So let us watch as it pours out of her dying heart.
Her heart is crumbling to pieces.
Sharp shards it becomes.
So sharp that if someone tries to pice it back together they get hurt.
The heart that is crumbling is the heart of a hopeless dreamer
The owner of the heart — I see her right now — she’s sitting in the corner of her room, writing her letter to the world.
She’s calm as tears trace down her cheeks.
You won’t even hear her crying.
Listen to the scratch of her pen on the paper.
Listen to her crumbling hear.
It is still beating…isn’t it?
You can barely hear it.
It is more shy than a whisper.
Listen to what it is saying.
“I am done.”