I found my confidence in the peeling
floral wallpaper of cheap motel rooms.
We ate with paper plates and napkins
and though my paper heart was easily torn
she always taped the pieces back together.

She promised that we'd live somewhere warm
where nobody could tell us who we should be.
Her Chevy pickup was the only place I felt safe,
and slow dancing with her to Johnny Cash
at that old Texas bar is where I felt most at home.

She was a cool summer breeze and
I was a cold winter's night, but together
we could stop the world.
I was a poet and dreamer, and she fueled
every shining star in the night sky,
every wish I ever made.

I spent my whole life with clenched fists
and gritted teeth until she kissed my knuckles
and relieved my grief.
I never needed the midnight drives,
the sunset dreams or the crackling stereo,
but she made me want those things.

She made me want to live to love,
and love to live.