Author’s lyrics from the final package. Audio comparison follows upload.
With love.
The paper gave way at one careful seam.
No grand speech lay under the string.
A shirt still remembered the width of his shoulders.
New shoes knew the weight of his step.
She measured his winter from far away.
The coat fit as though she were there.
He buttoned the distance against his chest.
The cold had no answer for that.
They never called it devotion.
It had no time for a name.
It watched for the turn of the weather.
It knew what to send when it came.
From here, with love.
No country in the phrase.
The things went where their hands could not.
Kindness crossed in their place.
From here, with love.
No vow left to prove.
A coat for winter. Shoes for walking.
The ordinary work of love.
Two rooms grew older in different weather.
The objects refused to take sides.
A cup brought his hand to her breakfast.
A silver chain gathered the light.
His book kept his voice in the margins.
One card made the same spring return.
Whatever the map called distance,
the smallest things refused to learn.
They never called it devotion.
It had no time for a name.
It watched for the turn of the weather.
It knew what to send when it came.
From here, with love.
No country in the phrase.
The things went where their hands could not.
Kindness crossed in their place.
From here, with love.
No vow left to prove.
A coat for winter. Shoes for walking.
The ordinary work of love.
Love was never the letter.
Love was the thing folded in:
the measure of shoulders remembered,
the knowledge of what winter brings.
It did not wait for reunion.
It did not ask distance to move.
It learned to arrive as something useful.
That was the language it used.
From here, with love.
No country in the phrase.
The things went where their hands could not.
Kindness crossed in their place.
From here, with love.
No vow left to prove.
A coat for winter. Shoes for walking.
The ordinary work of love.
Years later, another box waits at the door.
Four quiet feet circle once.
The address has not changed.
The handwriting has not.
From here.
With love.