Every night I sleep, remnants of her seeps.
Her voice a ghost I used to know drifting soft like falling snow.

I try to get close, but her doors are already closed.
When she nears, I turn aside, tongue-tied, caught in the rising tide.

I don't know what to say or do if ever dreams came true.
Would silence win, or would I speak?
Probably still trembling, afraid and weak...

Now I walk the streams of night, avoiding all my dreams.
But in my heart, a quiet plea
If it really isn't me, I'll stand aside and set her free.