Free From the Confines of Your Irregular Heart.

Elizabeth doesn’t like to talk about the day they stopped her heart.
It’s been two months since and it’s as if only and hour has past. Everything about the well sat in plush seats has been still since the night I held her head in my lap, brushing the red through my fingers as her chest heaved and you screamed, hands fumbling with the wheel.
And your palm never moves its stake from her frail shoulder- while we coast through the freeway in our silent box where breath is held. The wilting frame of who I remember her as sits in the passenger’s seat, her sunken blue eyes and milky skin turned towards the sun as it reflects its rays off her auburn locks. She is not in her eyes and I think they zapped her away with the paddles- but suddenly she sighs and says “I never realized the freeway was so beautiful” and I know she beats again.