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I thought of writing home,
but then, what would I say ?
That I'm sitting here alone,
and you have gone away ?
I may be low in spirit,
but I don't think I'll do that,
'cause I don't want to hear it,
when sympathy brings it back.

I'd rather sit and sort my memories;
pack them in my heart till the aching leaves.
I'm not one who likes to be alone,
but company would remind me that you're gone,
and only leave me sad and more aware,
your absence - is a presence - in the air.

I don't know where you're going,
or what lies ahead for you.
A colder wind is blowing,
the house is chilly too.
Nothing that surrounds me
has a way to warm,
like your arms around me,
through life and all its storms.

A stream of memories flow and shimmer.
Lamplight shines, but so much dimmer.
T V has grown distant; hardly speaks at all.
Only my own footsteps echo in the hall.
The coffee doesn't perk, it gurgles like despair,
and your absence - is a presence - in the air.
Your absence is a presence everywhere.

( © 2002 - "Future Folk" Music - Betty Curtis )