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.

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