The sun warms my skin, and I love it. But dear, you warm me much deeper.
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I want to find someone just as scared as me.
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I lose myself sometimes in clouds, in dirt, in stars, in nothing at all. Is this bliss?
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You still find ways to make my heart fill out of my eyes, and onto pages of paper of how I try to describe how I feel.
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I don't care when my footsteps will erode away, or when you will forget the exact words I said. But, if in my heart I know I painted the world with my love, I will be content.
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Twisting and turning, but nothing changing.