He stood staring at the vase of roses in front of him, the tears flowing fiercely like an enraged river down his cheeks. With his right leg, he kicked the vase hard enough so it hit the wall and shattered in a thousand pieces. The letter in his hand was no more than ash, as he threw it into the fire.

He dropped to his knees, his tears still running. Anger. He punched the ground until his knuckles were embedded in a crimson red. He fell backwards and faced the ceiling, with thoughts of you and you only.

‘My heart...my heart like that vase is broken and can’t be fixed’