I had a dream, just you and me. We’d found a place to stay nesting by 93. And though I know someday I’ve got to leave, I’m always looking back to find you following. Because we’ve been there before, and now we never speak. You flooded out the floor to keep your conscience clean. But I’m still in the boards creaking beneath your feet, and I know you’re not alone. How could you ever be? I could’ve painted the scene. Stuck on the scent of death washing over everything. It’s where I first felt love, or what it’d come to be. And in my head I’d never fall in love with anything, but I saw you staring back, Hazel as I could see. I saw a portrait of devotion and fidelity, but I know you’re not alone. How could you ever be? I will wish you well instead of a bitter end, and I will paint you gold like you’re still feeling it. Yeah, this may be a ghost, and I may be chasing it, but I will paint you gold. All in all, you left me to live with the recurring things that I just can’t shake. And I was hoping I’d drown it out or pull apart, or find something interesting in anything. Are you still feeling it? Cold wind blows and meets your shoulder. It’s been years, you look so much older. Trading grins with age and holding beauty close while I feel so alone.