On Sentimentality

My bittersweet red-green apple,

My memorial keepsake, my heirloom,

Even though one day I shall devour it,

It is mine, you cannot have it,

And I would rather keep it,

But I would rather it not go to waste,

It is ready to eat, a prayer a bite,

I will never see it again, Talking to a Dream,

Just no way to explain,

When it is gone, I shall mourn it,

Yet I wish it to not signify a loss,

Having had it in the first place, now I can pain less,

A companion for my passenger seat,

Its colours shall remain on my canvas,

So it shall live as long as I