But we stay up late talking, talking about nonsense things
And for what? What does it lead to?
To say that I strive for some sort of label would be just as nonsensical
As the words that leave your lips when you talk this late
Because I like you. And I like where we stand,
And I like how warm I feel when you hold my hand.
And when you speak, I can see the heavens in your eyes
And nothing can label that. Not a word, not a paragraph, nothing.