Fixing the broken thing

Dear Mr. Surgeon

I give you my believe. i sign the agreement and let you have the scalpel to my heart. i believe in you. but why did you provide me with the polluted oxygen. now i cannot breathe. my blood is lack of oxygen. my heart cannot pump my blood and cannot reach my brain. and if it happens for another 5 minutes, my brain is going to be dead.

Dear Mr. Surgeon

why at the first place you offer me the medical help? why did you tell me that you're full of experiences? or is it the experience of failure operation?

Dear Mr. Surgeon

after you cut me open with your scalpel, you close me down with hundreds of ugly stitches. you are not as graceful as when you cut me open. and you told all my people that i have no hope of living. i am brain dead. and they have to let me go. can't you see that i'm listening?

Dear Mr. Surgeon

Can't you see that i'm trying to cry so much so you could see my tears? BUT I CAN'T! i gave the access to my heart, you broke it, and left me heartless. i cannot even cry or smile.

Dear Mr. Surgeon

Please mend me. fix me. you can go to your medical school back. and break the hearts of all your experimental pigs. then, after you learn not to break a human's heart, you can come back to me. and fix me. i'll wait. even i have to wait for another 10 years. i'll wait. even when i am brain dead and heartless. i'll be waiting.

cause i can only give my heart once.