We could be those runaway kids you see on milk cartons.
Leave this town flee to somewhere warmer.
Where the grass grows green and wild and the people accept us.
But she acts like I'm joking.
And I know she would rather stay in this little town with a little family.
And live a happy stable long life.
But I've already seen too much this world has to offer.
And I don't think I can be happy with that little bit.

But that is a poem for another day.
Because today I'm still here and so is she.
And today I like to think with a little convincing she could be.
My little Runaway.