He was doing well.
But slept without his icon
of peace and strength.
The memories flashed in his mind,
and the happiness he felt was slowly
being transformed into knives being
plunged into his heart.
The pain was too much.
He could only breathe every one or two minutes.
His lungs, gasping for air, his heart,
longing for her to realize what she's done.
They worry. And come to his aid.
But they can't do a thing. He's
half asleep. Half dead already.
The time passes by.
ten minutes.
twenty minutes,
half an hour.
An Hour.
He's tired of the pain.
And falls to the ground.
And under his bed.
He finds his only
source of tranquility.
Holding it close to his heart,
he slowly drifts into sleep.
Trying to forget.
