Where do Broken Hearts Go, Tita Whitney?

Have you experienced it? That feeling when… you can’t breathe –but not because your lungs or nose had been ripped from you or the Earth has run out of oxygen for you.

You feel nauseated –and you can’t tell whether it is because of the egg yolk you ate or the egg white you didn’t.

You feel exhausted—yet you are not sure if it is because of your one-thousand-one-hundred-centimeter walk or one hundred two seconds of hiatus.

Your feel like your rib cage holds a time bomb—an imprisoned heart with sprouting wings and feet. Then you get this feeling that that heart attempts to move through your throat, out to your mouth?

Then the background music plays. Where do broken hearts go?

Then you know you’re screwed.

You just experienced the most-cursed incident of all time. No. Not World War II. Not Cancer, Ebola Virus, SARS, Meningococcemia, Appendicitis, Meningitis or any alarming –tis there is.

It is the worst condition.

You feel excruciatingly dead and you are forced to be alive to feel it.



© Kizzel Mina


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