i built a house in the tree,
and sent you its inscriptions through the winds.
the woods they sang,
a hymn once lost.
the leaves they fell,
one by one.
is life itself not masquerading enough?
yet still must we, a part of this play?
the winding roads, many.
thus i tossed you a seashell to bring you home.
back to the shore where we first met.
so time can start for us once again.
do not forget
that i am here,
that i was there.
