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.
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