I see you in sunsets, on street corners, in big, white flowers.
I feel you right before my head hits the pillow.
I hear you in the horn section, in traffic jams, in late-night rainfall.
My words bleed from the black pen I hold, envelopes holding small notes and big confessions,
our love crossing borders to reach each other.
You have a place in all my words, comfortable and warm. A chair just for you.
You'll always have a home in these pages.
But you'll have my heart on mountain tops.
And the mountains have always been home to me.