If only your heart was here with me now,
and you gave me the chance to show you how
to love what you want, so deserve, and need;
that warmth inside, so your soul can soar freed.
But instead, I write, alone of such things,
while the slow setting sun so soundly sings
of the sweetness of love that always fades,
because even the sun sinks into shade.
But that light’s so bright and pure while it shines,
which is why I spend so many sad rhymes,
because you deserve to know this one line:
The love in your heart will always be mine.
Instead I write, while the sun loses sight,
of how I wish we would light up the night.