There was a meadow in the hills of Itri, where I would dream of you.
In the meadow, your ghost waited for me,
and I would imagine you there looking at the wonder around us.
And it was a peaceful place. But I was yet incomplete.
I would stand there in the sunshine, warmth on my face and arms and legs;
the insects chirping and buzzing, the nettles blooming.
Sometimes, I would run to you with my arms open, and I would pray,
this time when I open my eyes, you would be there.
But all there ever was in that place were echoes of you.
And the hole in my heart burned and ached in ways I couldn't share.
And I would dream of one glorious day when I would find you,
a day where I would be complete in this place, what was stolen, restored.
But as long as I lived there, the dream never happened to come true.
And this dream, these echoes, they followed me until one glorious day,
I found you, and I was healed.
