Sting.

Standard

I got stung by a bee today. It crawled inside my shirt and, presumably alarmed, proceeded to sting me firmly on the back of my neck, losing his stinger -and life -in the process.
As I awkwardly held an ice pack on the raised lump caused by his tiny injection of venom I realised that I have been stung by something else; another slow moving poison that is spreading leisurely through my branching veins, slowly but surely enveloping me with a toxic grip.
I haven’t been able to put my finger on that feeling, the something’s-not-quite-right sense of unease that has followed me of late, lurking over my shoulder just outside of my peripheral vision but close enough to make me crane my neck a little in vain in the hopes of a glimpse. Something inside me has shifted, and my happiness has disappeared, at first under the guise of stress, but now, unmistakably, just…missing.
I have a broken heart.
Of that I am completely sure.
Exactly how, or when it happened, I really don’t know. How to fix it? I can’t begin to guess.

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