I've just learned that I killed someone last night. I stabbed him several times right through his chest. Then, I grabbed a gun and pointed it at him, aiming at his temple. But I changed my target and pulled the trigger, directing it closely towards his heart. I shot once..twice..thrice..until I lost my count and every bullet was consumed. But I didn't stop there. Using bare hands, I had pulled out his heart, crumpled it with my strongest grip. Then, I pinned it to my soles so that I can step on it when I walk away from him.
The crime I did.
My 4-page confession letter has had that effect on him-- tearing him a part, and leaving an excruciating pain and sympathy not only to him but also to those who had witnessed the way his heart collapsed.
I feel for him-- for making him feel that he has just died. I feel for those around him-- for struggling to help him breathe again. And I feel for me-- for letting my heart think for the past ten months and some months before that.
But my heart has been doing an excellent job. It has proven its worth.
I shouldn't plead guilty.
*****
but somehow i am. i feel you and i'm so sorry.
When you're too in love to let it go
But if you never try you'll never know
Just what you're worth
Lights will guide you home
And ignite your bones
And I will try to
fix you..."
- Coldplay's Fix You.
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