Sometimes I fear that your arms will pass through me.
With the wisp of uncertainties,
that you will reach for comfort
and find the wind lonely.

Sometimes I fear that one day you won't hear me.
With the clamor of fools,
that you will cup your ear
and hear nothing but indistinct drowning.

Sometimes I fear that one day you might see me.
With the drab of a pauper,
that you will look intently
and see an impoverished soul.