Explosions in the Sky - Remember me as a time of day

I don't think about you very much anymore, Sara, but sometimes I do.
The counterpoint to my years of hedonism and reckless abandon, with you began the penance that I'm still paying.
One of the greatest things of the courtship phase of a relationship is the bit where you're finding out stuff about the other person. Long walks through the park we used to go to, walking barefoot in the grass, fingers slowly intertwining, shy, happy smiles, a subtle kiss that no one sees.
Inquisitiveness as an obsessive art, what books do you like, you ask; and I reply and then ask what bands you like to listen to. So much in common, yet so little hope for us. I couldn't imagine all those nights spent worshipping your feet, your feet that graced the earth with the sweetest perfume, would be kin to nights of unrelenting tears and 3 a.m. phone calls trying to keep you from taking your own life.
I knew what I was getting into, Sara, and I only wanted to help you. And I tried, I tried until I was losing too much of myself. I still don't know if I walked away or if you pushed me away, but I know that we weren't happy very often.

Sitting down on those cement benches in Gulbenkian, trading songs with each other. We shared your headphones and listened to music. Show me something beautiful, I asked. You placed your hand in mine and smiled. This is a song, you said. And you pressed play and the song became our touch and our touch became the song and that moment became forever.

I don't think about you very much anymore, Sara, but sometimes I do.