There’s a patch of sunlight that peeks through on the hillside that once caught your eye—and my likeness inside. But the path we cut that day in the rough is all covered up, like it never was. And the breeze on the air cut a jig in your hair. I remember you there. But the wind couldn’t care. And it spirited you ever distant, and along with it you were gone in an instant. I remember still you alighting there on the farthest hill, in the baby’s breath. What if I told you I hid a sinister lie—that I will carry your love or life? That it ain’t gonna die? Well, I doubt that you’re listening anyway, Love. But I wrote you this record to prove that it ever was. You faded from sight on the distant horizon, and danced in the light as your silhouette died. And with bated breath I watched that hillcrest, but there was only wind in baby’s breath.
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