You are flowers.
You are the seven o'clock sun in the middle of winter.
You are the hand that holds a heart worth having.
And I owe so much to you.

You're not only the beginning,
But you're the remnants at the end of the day.
You are the warmest kind of person
And I marvel at you

Although there's a sadness that you cling to
I fight to keep it out
Because every part of you that hides
Is another part I want

So I've never been good at much
But you convince me of my worth
And the greatest part of that
Is knowing that I am nothing without you.