Dwelling amongst the never fading memories.
Their pictures are brighter than ever, high definition.
Even though most of them are 98% shadow.
The 2% can still make me smile.
All the hands I've felt, whether they were tender or harsh.
They shaped me just fine.
Plenty of eyes to recall, all their own form of beauty.
All their fair share of witnesses unimaginable horrors,
well through it all they still somehow glisten.
I know how burdensome scars can be,
I also know those stories behind every sad or terrifying imperfection can be pretty priceless.
Every few hours the multiple voids of missing them returns without failure.
But why would I want to
forget the people
who maybe have been villains
but
somehow they could pull off capes just as well as
their black swords.
Is that not something to feel impressed by?
Knowing that sinking realization
you can't leave the world
they're ingrained inside you can be traumatizing.
But why leave when it grows
into something you understand better than the normalcy around everyone else.

Normalcy...The silly conversations.
Normalcy...the easy come...