Swirling sapphire and emerald skies;
I look among the living as my false hope dies.
Abrupt and unforgiving silence comforts me not;
For I know, without your gaze, I shall surely rot.
But perhaps this reality is for the best,
We must remain living among the rest.
No, my dear, our field of wildflowers is no long present,
But the imaginary past is not something to resent.
For I know a place that will always be,
Despite the fact it only lives on inside of me.