[Verse 1 — flowing piano, conversational] Dear Mara, Your name looks different written down. I’m used to keeping it unsaid. I started writing “How’ve you been?” And wandered somewhere else instead. We knew each other years ago, Before our lives had settled in. Sometimes a memory comes back As though no time has passed for it. I wonder what you would remember. Perhaps a little less than me. We stood beside the same beginnings And knew each other differently. [Chorus — lilting, gently lifting] And I don’t know your ordinary days, What makes you laugh when you get home. I know how little I can know Of someone from across a room. But there you were, And there was I, With so much in my head And nothing past “Hi.” [Verse 2 — light percussion enters] I’ve always liked your eye for things, The care that seemed to come so naturally. I’d notice something you had chosen And wish you could explain it all to me. I nearly wrote that you were perfect. The word looked wrong beside your name. There must be things I cannot see From standing all this way away. I’ve filled some empty space with guesses. I know that’s something people do. I’d like to leave a little silence For an answer that belongs to you. [Chorus] And I don’t know your ordinary days, What makes you laugh when you get home. I know how little I can know Of someone from across a room. But there you were, And there was I, With so much in my head And nothing past “Hi.” [Bridge — quieter, piano keeps the pulse] The last time we were in one room, I nearly made it to your side. You glanced toward someone past my shoulder; I found a place for me to hide. I don’t remember what was playing Or what I said when someone spoke. I just remember going home With one small word still in my throat. [Verse 3 — warm, gathering momentum] I thought I had to fix myself Before I had a thing to say. There always seemed to be one more Good reason I should wait a day. But I could have asked about your morning. I could have listened for a while. We might have found we had a friendship Somewhere underneath that awkward smile. It’s strange to miss a conversation That we never really had. I’d like to start with something smaller Than the words I’ve written in its place. [Outro — tender, still moving] Dear Mara, Would you like a cup of coffee? Some afternoon when you have time. There’s so much I could put in writing, But I’ll leave a little room this time. A table somewhere. A little while. You can tell me how you’ve been. I’ll start with “Hi.”
