Years go on, and decades pass,
Like shadows over fleeting glass,
Yet deep within this quiet chest,
Your absent warmth is still a guest.
Almost every single day,
In subtle ways you cannot weigh,
You never know—and never might—
That you remain a distant light,
The reason why a smile appears,
To hold the warmth of former years.
It blooms, it stays, it smiles again,
A tender, natural refrain…
And yet, behind the gentle art,
It hides a softly broken heart—
So seamless to the outside view,
So real, yet fake, for wanting you.
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