My heart is the wick of a blown out candle. It once burned hot and cast warm light into the dark of night. Now it is cold and curled, bent over, burned, and covered with suet. A dark presence even in the light of day.
And yet, my heart exists. Is it waiting to host a flame again? Does it hold that memory? Dried as it is, just one spark would ignite and restore it.
Light the candle. Burn, baby. Burn.
I hope that what ever bad spirit has befallen You goes away soon… and Happiness comes again !!!!
It is nice to see you posting again, but I am saddened by its contents. Hugs.