The words come out like breathing now,
A story told a thousand times, somehow.
It\'s you, it\'s always you, you see,
The echo in the heart of me.
I write of sun, I write of rain,
But find your shadow in the lane.
Each little joy, each little tear,
Brings back a memory of you, my dear.
Perhaps you\'ve moved to distant lands,
With different skies and shifting sands.
Perhaps you\'ve found another face,
To fill the empty, hollow space.
And maybe, just maybe, you\'re unaware,
Of all the words I spill in air.
But still I write, it\'s all I know,
Of how the silent feelings grow.