Untouched food on the dining table patiently wait to be relished. The rusty old clock is glaring at him, breaking the silence with its perpetual ticking. His hearbeat is synchronising with each tick as he remains stationary, he feels the warmth of his blood flowing through his every single vein, right through the core of his melted stone cold heart. His mind can't help but to disharmonise the unanimity, perturbing his rumination. He isn't sure of this sentiment. Never before he feels this weakened. A gentle suffocation. His affection illustrates her silhouette, unveiling her face gently. He savours the intangible bittersweet sensation, gloating away. Deep down, he kens the need to wake up to reality, however excruciating it may be.
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