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.
