Chronicle of a death foretold

I cannot pretend I don’t care. Even less to myself. Why keep trying? Its not about the contradictions in my head. But a stone sensation on my chest that almost prevents it from beating. Call it trivialities. Call it a relationship just like any other. Say that we are not responsible. Say what you will.
But I do care.
Bliss will be the day I free myself from my social, cultural and whatever other bonds... And pour out everything agitates in here. Let my poor heart free at least once before, out of slavery, it silences.