And I still carry with me
That drawing.
It's covered in wrinkles on its once flawless white skin.
Fold marks were never there but now after folding it so many times
After so many openings to see how beautiful your soul could be
The paper is slowly coming apart.
I still carry it where ever I go.
I sleep with it in my pocket and hold onto to it when I need you to protect me from the dark and its shadows.
Even when I am next to you in person I carry it.
Do you know that I carry it?
That drawing of the rose.
The one you gave me on Valentines day.

It's in my pocket
Right
Now.

Anthony, I still have it.