It is a foolish thought, yet strangely sweet,
To think we live inside another's prayer,
That somewhere, in a quiet, steady beat,
Our name is spoken when no one is there.
We catch ourselves and smile for no known cause,
While strangers wonder what we're thinking of;
A memory pauses time and breaks the laws,
Reviving all the warmth of vanished love.
The gentle talks we shared, the words we said,
Replay like music in an empty room;
A feeling that is safely, softly dead,
Yet blossoms from the ghost of what could bloom.
We cannot make this magic breathe anew,
Nor recreate the light that we possessed;
Yet just to know it happened, fond and true,
Leaves every quiet, longing shadow blessed.
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