On the delete list

It is a number
I cannot bring myself
To delete like any other,
Though I have paid
My last respects
In my own way
From a distance,
It is like
The yellowing book
With my father's signature
I cannot throw away
Though the print is fading
And the teachings passe,
It is like
A secret love
I know
Cannot go anywhere
Though its glow
Is life-giving,
Just looking at it
Brings alive the voice
That went unheard
Like Cassandra's.