it's been hours, yet I miss you—
every smile and every note,
every silly pun you mentioned,
every song your fingers wrote.
I could hear you sing for hours
but it seems I've lost the time,
so I'm smelling paper flowers
and still wishing you were mine.
my heart is quilted gold with dreams,
the sky is draped in blue,
this ink bleeds black with stories—
every page turns back to you.
and I know I'm being foolish
when I dream you think of me
as I sail back through the sky
on the clouds above the sea
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