Piece LVI.

A part of you exists
but is dying to not live without.
That kind of distant feeling
when the very heart you’ve kept
buried in a box
for quite a while is transported
to a nearby memory.
Like an apparition of some sort,
it lingers in the absence of pain,
almost forbidden in the sense
that it did matter once,—only once—
all the while longing to end
as fast as it came that immortal fire
that nobody sees.
You do not breathe the same life
as it was a year ago- and a half.
You no longer fancy the same light
that made half the world blind.
That part of you, deemed insignificant
all by few insignificant faces,
had since been the fortress
of undying promises
a few brave men have sworn to keep,
in this life or the next.