(quiet fingerpicking on an acoustic guitar, the sound of a room, a soft breath)

The rain keeps tapping on the window pane,

A faded reminder of a forgotten vow.

We promised we'd come here, again and again,

But life just scattered us, it doesn't care how.

The paint of forgetting is peeling with time,

This granite feels colder with every year.

And the wind is just humming a meaningless rhyme,

To you, who no longer can hear.

And there are no comforting lies,

Just my conscience, staring from the void.

And these paths, overgrown, symbolize

All the love that was somehow destroyed.

We are begging for your forgiveness,

With no way to ever bridge this divide,

Left alone with this silent witness,

And the failure we carry inside.

The peonies you planted have wilted and died,

A thicket of nettles is all that remains.

And the stone that once held all the warmth from inside,

Now mirrors the coldness, the unspoken pains.

We write our letters on ashes and air,

In the house that is silent and numb.

To a ghost of a presence, no longer there,

From a future that will never come.

And there are no comforting lies,

Just my conscience, staring from the void.

And these paths, overgrown, symbolize

All the love that was somehow destroyed.

We are begging for your forgiveness,

With no way to ever bridge this divide,

Left alone with this silent witness,

And the failure we carry inside.

And was it the dying that severed the thread?

Or the silence that grew while you were still here?

All the words that we never got to say, left unsaid,

Are now loud in my mind, painfully clear.

In this quiet that cuts like a knife, I confide...

I'm just talking to myself, with nowhere to hide.

(The guitar slowly fades, the last notes linger and dissolve into silence)