She fades across the wall like jagged shadows of a skeleton, A closet full of old stories and worn out old novels, Some journals and a few other romantic letters, There is a couple with the lipstick still on the envelope. There was a time, a time when none of this really mattered, Back before I became grown, grown into this man you see today, Before I ever knew you, and the scent of your perfume, And yes, yes I do still have that same letter. The one with the piece of the magazine ripped out, Yes, I have every single one of those letters still, These fleeting thoughts of calm and ambiences, The comfort in letting you go has yet to relieve the pain of losing you.