Springtime
There's a little bit of springtime in the back of my mind.
Not quite a memory, not quite a dream.
Just a shimmer of how things might have been.
The air there is soft with forgetting and the days fold gently like pages left unread.
I go there sometimes
where the blossoms never fell
where time holds its breath and the sky is always just beginning to blush.
And in that springtime I'll try to be alive
as if it was the only time that ever was
or ever will be.
Springtime
There's a little bit of springtime in the back of my mind.
Not quite a memory, not quite a dream.
Just a shimmer of how things might have been.
The air there is soft with forgetting and the days fold gently like pages left unread.
I go there sometimes
where the blossoms never fell
where time holds its breath and the sky is always just beginning to blush.
And in that springtime I'll try to be alive
as if it was the only time that ever was
or ever will be.