I may put on a mask of insensitivity
I may wear an expression of carefree cynicism
But midnight comes and the new day changes nothing—
my heart still beats on with the same tune of regret.

Yes, my dear, the words ring in my head
The falling sensation retains its strength—
I lie in bed, stare at the ceiling, and smile
while your ghost floats and coats my skin with tears.
Oh, beloved, I pour over your letters
The ink has faded but the meaning lingers.
And what was the meaning, my dear?
Did you ever care enough to say you did—
Or were your words and gestures as farce
as my façade of an unbroken heart?

But what's left of me doesn't care
My memories may be a sweet delusion:
oxygen for my fire of hope.
It burns lightly within, a spark or inferno
(decided by the words I choose to read)
But for you, beautiful soul, it never dies
despite the sorrow, the screams and the lies.
No, your ghost brushes his lips to my pain
While you wander the world, your conscience
Sheltered by the mask of sanity on my face.