I can see it.

The Skin encasing my heart, pulsating.

It races.

I struggle for air.

I'm no marathon runner – I'm a chronic smoker with half a lung, with a heart in a condition much worse.

I shut my eyes, in a faint attempt to attempt to faint and shut myself off from everything that I have ever laid my eyes on.

But I still feel it.

I press my finger tips against the skin encasing my heart.

And I wince at every beat.