Those Old Letters

I still keep those old letters You've sent me way back then, Those times when you're just A sheer daydream away. They seem all crumpled. Torn. Worn out. Yet I read them quite often. Recalling what was once A past life of indulgence. Nothing much you say, But the flourishing Of pure friendship Was just a mere fiddle, A dull edge to the rusted knife. Unknown to you, Every blot of ink you spare In those letter-papers bore The embers of my very essence... I cherish them all... More than my life.