It Is a Good Pain

To miss someone,
To remember their scent,
Their smile, their skin. To feel sorrow for what you have, but cannot.
Cuts deeper than a flaming blade to the heart.

The monk, sitting on the mountain
Feels nothing. Linkless to anyThing, independent of anyOne,
No barrier can break his connections, since there is nothing to break.
Like a dead man;
Sat in heaven, he can feel no pain.
When that which he loved is gone.

Away, for now. A distance stretches this link between their two souls,
Twists and warps it into the essence of pain.
Not pain of evil, the pain of love,
Retaining it's former purity, immortal.
Like a bullet, elegant and glistening,
A jewel delivering agony and ecstasy, in equal measure.

This barrier of ice, the other side so clear
He can see the image of their face.
Perfect - too seductive, ever-enticing.
Passion for the heart / Torture for the mind.

The Sorrowful One, stood, wishing he was the monk?
No. Glad he is stood behind this glass, with this blade In his heart,
Setting his thoughts of her alight.
Glad to be stood there before the glass, the veil holding them apart.

Because I'll take this dagger, shatter the glass, and hold you with me forever.