You know I'd walk a thousand miles, just to be next to you and hold your hand. And in that moment, I swear we were infinite. Due to any different beliefs in this world, same beings are going against each other and standing by what they have faith in. Truth is, no one is a stranger. We are strangers in our world. Let me sing you songs of sunshine and sand, of islands and planes of sea; songs strummed out on a borrowed, battered guitar. Your dangling foot is lazily trailing swirls in the fine grainy dust. The dusky sunlight falls powder soft on our skin, reaching out its tendrils languidly across the lilting waves. Flowers laced in your hair, your gnarly, salt crusted, tumbling, twisting vine hair. You are deep caramel, as always, you are the canvas of the sun's painting. A cigarette is perched on the ledge of your lips, balanced precariously between a slight pout. Toenails painted barbie-pink, a woven straw hat is pulled low over your face; windshield sunglasses protect mine. Leaning back on bent elbows, our backs kissing bare sand, our conversations are quiet, still as slipping over the horizon.
These are the days we'll spend together, talking about life and what it means to be human. Come in lovers, this is where you are home and none of us are strangers. Looking through out box of memories, you'll find photos of yourself running wild at last night's party, flinging your hair and hands in air like confetti. In the photos your eyes are stars, and your hands juggle balls of strobe lighting to the beat of the thunder bass. Chances are, you'll ve wearing something you dug out of our shop closet, looking slinkster cool, easy, beautifl and gorgeous. This is who you are. This is me. This is completely, strictly copyrighted by me.
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