Like a sheet of glass, the human heart can shatter,
Leaving broken pieces of the things that used to matter.
Fallen to the floor, sharp edges in the dark,
Every little crack has left a deep and heavy mark.
The damage can be mended, the pain can fade away,
And you might learn to live with all the words you couldn't say.
But deep inside the center of a heart that had to break,
The person that you used to be will never reawake.
Time can move along and close the open wounds,
But scars will always whisper under changing moons.
Even when you smile and try to play the part,
Can you ever go back to the very start?
Fragile hearts can heal, but they are modified,
A different kind of shape from the tears you cried.
Though the bleeding stops and the storm is finally through,
You are never quite the same as the old days knew.
No, you're never quite the same as the old days knew...
Like a broken mirror fastened back with thread,
The reflection changes where the fracture lines have spread.
Search inside the chambers of a soul that has been torn,
The innocence you lost cannot ever be reborn.
You can learn to love, you can choose to forgive,
But you carry how you died just to learn how to live.
New skin will grow over where you used to bleed,
A quiet kind of armor for the strength you're gonna need.
But the memories remain beneath the surface line,
And nothing shifts it back to the old design.
It changes... nothing stays the way it was before...
Even when you heal, you're not that person anymore...
In every culture, death is more than an end—it's a transformation. Among the many rituals humans perform to honor the departed, cremation is one of the most ancient and symbolic. But beyond tradition lies a deeper, almost mystical truth: when a body is cremated, its physical form is released, and the energy it held is not lost, but simply returned to the universe. According to the law of conservation of energy, energy can neither be created nor destroyed—it only changes form. This means the warmth, motion, and life force that once animated a body doesn't disappear in fire. It transforms. The heat from the flames, the smoke in the sky, the glowing embers—all of these carry fragments of a life once lived. They disperse into the air, the soil, and the stars. Cremation becomes, in this way, a cosmic act. The fire is not just an end, but a release. What was once confined within skin and bones now returns to the great continuum. Some call it spirit. Some call it soul. Science calls...
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