I often like to picture that you are floating in a red balloon
My lost love, soaring above my hands
And my head holding on,
While I know you are soaring away from me.

Perhaps when the leaves fall, we fall down as well
For all good does not appear it
Yet take down your sorrows off the shelf,
For you must be loved; it is no good to be feared.

Silence is cold but not all that is cold is silent
For your laugh is often cold
And it sends shivers down my spine
And gives me an ache in my bones which no fire can take away.

I hid in cupboards and hope that you will return
And if you don't, I myself will fly to the stars
And grab one hot one and hold it tight
Hoping that it is I who is warm, and you who is cold.