That old feeling, bitterweet - lingering through my brains, bitting my nerves as to say : the light that faded shall be brought back.
And me answering, half laughing at my torn face, from an eye to the other, poor fool, you'll never get it back.
That light you had - vanished. Consumed and ashed upon the ruins of your heart.
They say you'll be fine. Even better.
Can I tell them they're wrong, and shout it out loud, yelling right up their egotist ears.
This is how the candle is blown by the hypocrite wind. Some kind of warm breeze, keeping you out of trouble for some times. Just until it sucks the last degree of your body heat.
Appart from your plastic pride. Melted.