I can't stop thinking of how
You smiled on that July afternoon,
All golden and warm.
The sunbeams beating down,
Not a cloud in the sky.
Sharing stories and long walks,
Beads of sweat on our foreheads.
I can still feel it, the warmth,
Not from the sun, but from you.
I could have kissed you then,
And we would have been
All golden and warm.

There'll be a man at the window,
Looking out at the moon and the stars,
And the millions of memories that come to mind.
When the big problems are little
And the little wrinkles are big,
What will he think?
When we stop caring about essays and the future,
And start caring about wills and the past.
When he sees my face, will he remember butterflies,
Or the bitter taste of sadness?
When the bruises and tear stains have gone
And we have forgotten who we were,
All the little stories, gone in the wind.
Will you be proud of who you are?
Did I ever bottle the stars for you?
Will he think of all the secrets I told,
Or the ones I never revealed?
There's so many questions,
But lots of time.
The thought of the man at the window,
Who looks at photos he couldn't stand when he was young
And now smiles,
Who loves every flaw he used to hate,
And has lived the life he was scared to live,
He doesn't scare me,
Nor the void after.
Because the woman at the other window,
Will be proud that he's stood there at all.

It's not very often that you find
Someone who's eyes
Look like the universe, but just to you
And you spend your time
Being amazed by the warmth that flows
Around you and everything they touch
And suddenly
Everything is beautiful
Everything is okay
And you see them and it clicks
You can finally breathe again, like you haven't in years
And the bad stuff goes away
Just for a while
Just for them
And everything is beautiful at last

If you were gone,
I'd feel the pieces fall apart again,
Feel the flames between the shards.
We'd all feel it,
As your cold body is buried in cold dirt,
Warm tears falling as we think
Of your warm smile that we'll never see again.
Over time the flames will fade,
But we'll never be whole again.
The cracks would show
When the weather gets cold
And you're not there to blow out the candles,
Or we see a flower crown or a plaid shirt,
Or hear a beautiful accent like yours.
We'd all fall apart together,
A pile of smashed glass
Because the thing that held us together
Fell apart itself.
And we'd never hear those six letters
Without a bitter taste in our mouths, lumps in our throats,
And endless tears in our eyes,
If you were gone.