Do you feel it, lovely?
That all-too-familiar gust of wind?
It's the magnitude of the distance
By which we passed each other, again.
Something's broken here,
and logic spells our end with each good-bye.
We pretend we can't read,
but the truth on our palms won't let our hands lie.
I'd trade my soul for what's it worth,
or perhaps, the deeds my hands have done
for the bandages to heal your wounds,
or infuse your veins with the strength of the sun.
If we aren't meant to greet Forever,
or kiss Tomorrow's mysterious brow,
I pray for the power and ability necessary
to love you as you are meant to be loved, right now.
Do you feel it, honey?
That once-too-familiar gust of wind?
It's the speed of my heart running back to the night
we first met, to fall for you all over again.