My heart is in the coffin, there. Buried with her. I can hear it beating.
There’s nothing left in my chest. A hollow space. She emptied it when she emptied the apartment, robbed it of her things, she packed them in boxes and in the rush to finish, packed up my bloody heart. Stole it from me.
So she should be buried with it. Still beating. Because it always will. Beat for her.
