You tumble your gentle words
into the well of my inarticulate silence
Beckoning excitedly to me to come, come
And the ghosts, they don’t quite know what to do
In the presence of joy as lovely as your’s

You remember the best of me
When i barely understand the worst
And amidst the madding throngs
quietly retell those stories of old
In the most familiar of voices
Until they seep into my skin and well my eyes
with long streams of relief

For all my exquisite words I still cannot articulate
How home draws incomprehensibly closer
When you simply let me be
the girl I thought I forgot