That dull ache in a corner of the heart glows like embers.
Ashy, yet bright. Cold, and yet hot.
The fire that raged consumed a part of the mind. But no one noticed. No one else felt the heat. All there is to see now are the ashes. And they tell no stories.
It still sears upon touch; and threatens to flare into flames, if stoked. Wanton winds there are.
Snuffed out, it shall never be. It gives warmth… still. Memories of a fire, and the scar.
And all there is now is silence. Dead silence.
