Time of death: 3:44. When you told me you don't love me anymore. Place of death: The park where we met, on a lazy Sunday afternoon. I remember the dreaded words which escaped your lips, the heat in your words, the look on your face, as I took a metaphorical bullet to the chest; it hurt like Hell. Cause of death: You. When you stabbed me in the heart for the first and last time. A fatal blow. But in the coroner's office, all the report will ever show is: time of death: 3:44. Cause of death: Trauma to the chest.
When your heart gets broken by someone, it feels like you've been struck in the chest. The air feels like it's been knocked right out your lungs and you feel as though you can't breathe. You feel a mixture of emotions all blurred into one mess. You play the final exchange in your head over and over again, and each time it gets harder and harder. Heartbreak. It feels like you've been stabbed in the back and shot in the chest all at once.