Sometimes I wish I was a girl in one of Ray Lamontagne's songs. She always seems so particularly sad, yet so real and painstakingly familiar. Actually, she doesn't really seem all that real at all. She's more of an earthy goddess, so in touch with nature that she may actually have been born from a wildflower or out of a single rain drop. Sometimes I close my eyes and picture myself as her, bare feet stepping along stones in the forest and feeling individual blades of grass in between my toes. She makes dirty knees seem so romantic. And soft, pale skin. Maybe he found her when he was out wandering one afternoon, and she disappeared the moment they finished making love. Maybe she isn't sad at all. Maybe she enjoys appearing and disappearing as she pleases. She enjoys playing those games and then retreating back to the mountains where she sings along with the birds and dances with the leaves in the passing breeze. Maybe she only exists in his imagination, and he pulls her out whenever he's feeling lonely. And she is a secret that he keeps only for himself. And she enjoys being that secret.