What beats in my chest is never a living heart, but a defective one that could collapse at any time.
The day I was diagnosed with hypertrophic cardiomyopathy, I realized that my life had no long future from the beginning.
This is a chronic disease that cannot be cured, and is experienced day after day.
I can't run, I can't be emotional, I can't have the warm and lively life of ordinary people. Even a normal heartbeat is a luxury I borrowed from the world.
I used my diary as a medium to record the rest of my life, which was on the verge of withering.
I remember every unexpected heart palpitation, suffocation and cold sweat in the middle of the night, my obsession that was unwilling to end, and my powerlessness in loving the world desperately, but being dragged into the abyss time and time again.
I soberly watched myself slowly weakening, and watched my peers rushing to the mountains and seas wantonly, but I could only be trapped in a small world, guarding my heartbeat that could stop at any time, and surviving cautiously.
I was also greedy for fireworks, longed for tenderness, and looked forward to a complete companionship and years and years. But illness is a high wall in my destiny. The more I want to live well, the more fate presses on me, crushing my hope bit by bit.
During the long course of the disease, expectations and despair were repeatedly pulled together, and love and regret coexisted day and night.
This diary filled with fragmentary thoughts is the last trace I have left in the world.
My short life is gentle and humble, passionate and fragile.
In the end, I couldn't survive my fate or survive the years. I could only bid farewell to this person I loved so deeply with my heart filled with nostalgia.
Purpose: I hope my novels can bring happiness to some people. Just say I'm not a very good person, but I really hope it can bring them happiness.