Your insides
are prettier than the Paris city lights.

I've found you but
you're not mine to keep.

I guess that's alright.
Cause all picked flowers have died.

I want to see you bloom
and I'd gladly give you room.

Maybe I'm not meant to stay,
maybe one day I'll be away.

But for now, I'll do my best
to build you up. Then we'll rest.

-m.b