Sweater

A postcard with the Queen of England's face
That I sent you, while you were gone away
And envelope you sent back sealed to me with pine
From the trees near where you spent your summertime

When you'd write back, you'd always make me laugh
And I'd hide my correspondence with the others in my stash
And they're still there, full of creases and full of tears
All your letters in a sweater that I don't wear

And the phone calls late at night on your walk home
And I'd join you, you never liked to walk alone
And I think back, to the love I never shared
And those letters in a sweater that I don't wear

Now I look back, and I wonder if i'd asked
Would you be here? Would I ever have looked back?
Like I do now when I hold on to what's there
In those letters, in that sweater, that I don't wear



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