Somewhere, in a drawer unknown,
Lies a letter left alone.
Written soft in trembling ink,
Too much to say, too much to think.

Did you begin with “I still care”?
Or “I wish that I was there”?
Did you confess the nights you wept?
The memories you swore you kept?

But love is strange and time is fast,
The past is dust, the dust won’t last.
And so your letter sits unread,
A love unwritten, left for dead.