is living with heart a tragedy?

Don't ask me where my heart lives I'm afraid I won't answer the world you belongs to, I'm also afraid as the answer is still unknown to me be true, But I wonder I wonder is it left somewhere between the pages of book I once read, Or is it in the bunch of roses in the vase waiting to be dead, I wonder is it still inside of me Or does it stayed behind in the moments I spent with you under that old oaktree, It's maybe lost somewhere but I'm still living happily Maybe Cause sometimes I think living with it was also a tragedy.