The reality I have to bear
     is that there's nothing I can do
But keep to myself all affairs
     and leave nothing more than a clue.

Like the dents above the pillows
     where our heads once laid upon
And the tinge of my crimson lipstick
     that pressed your lips at dawn.

Like the letters in the closet
     that I gave on Christmas eve
Or that night when rain had caught us,
     and I slept wearing your longsleeves.

Like the speakers you had purchased
     for our movie marathons
Or the cup of coffee on the table
     that helped me study all night long.

Like the post-its on my backdoor
    that wished me luck for my exam
Or the wilted petals from a rose
     you gave to me so I’d calm down.

I could name a few more moments
     when forever was ours to keep
But these clues are none but *******
    long buried with a painful heap.