White shadows

He's casting white shadows on the wall,
The silent cat at his ankles,
Trailing shadows of dancing mice,
Things long gone,
That it has hunted once,
While it had been strong,
And his are a scrapbook,
Of the days that have gone by,
Of sunlit attics,
And love letters that lie,
In silent, dusty piles,
Holding their secrets within the faded lines,
And yellowed paper,
That still smelled the way she did,
Of honeysuckle and tea roses,
The scent of her favourite perfume,
That sits in a wooden box,
That's slowly crumbling to nothingness,
Held together by a scarlet ribbon,
With a single black strand that remained,
Even as she faded away,
In the wake of his white shadows,
That leached away all that he loved,
Leaving behind,
The faded echoes of her existence.

~Rei Shiori