7 months, 21 days, 4hours, 30 minutes.
That's how long it's been
Since I last talked to you
Or even heard your voice.
It pains me now to think about it.
But it pains me more to read your words.

There's a box beside my bed
And in it I keep the memories
That I can't bare to have in my head.
Your letters
And songs
Lie among the numerous other silly pages.

Sometimes I think about sending it all back.
Every little word you ever wrote.
Just to be done with you,
But I can't bring myself to do it.
I don't want to admit I lost you.
But I know it's true.