Fresh snow covers the roads,
it's unseasonably warm.
The weather has made them slippery.
As we drive, white knuckled I watch
an eagle flying high above our car,
and wish I could fly away with him.
How I long to be free,
that ever elusive fantasy.
He wants a commitment,
he wants my heart to be his.
How many times have I told him,
"you shouldn't play with hearts like that?"
I'd give him my heart if
only he could convince me
my lips are the only one's he would kiss.
As hard as I try, I simply cannot convince
myself of that.
He's kissed a thousand lips,
captured a hundred hearts,
yet I still care,
though I don't want to.
I'm a single flake of snow on his drift.
Comments
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Feeling is God, and God is love. God loves you and so do I, though our lips will never touch. Souls touch, and that's what we take with us when we go home. We'll hug one day, in heaven, and all things will be clear then. Beautiful beyond measure. Maybe his lips touched many and he cannot commit bodily. But when souls connect...that's forever. Your soul is not just another flake. If truth be known, he probably has deepest regret that he couldn't act right...
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