There is a quiet smallness to this town, in which people scuttle about in their simple routines. Caught in one such routine, I can't seem to shake the memory of your hand holding mine, your fingers through my hair, your lips on my lips. I can't shake the thoughts of stumbling through downtown streets in the cool clear night.
And though I'll walk the routine of the remnants of my small town life for the rest of the summer days, I'm still laying in your arms at the edge of forever.
Your scent washed over me, and stayed with me through the night. Your voice, your touch, your pulse... all of these things stayed with me.
How foolish of me to not realise until now that, through all these years, you have stayed with me.
Six long years, I've yearned for thee
The Rockies great, I'd move for thee
The ocean wide, I'd swim for thee
Wilt thou now wake and turn to me?
There are some things that never stop being true, not even for a second.