The setting sun, a warning to twilights approach,
The wind a light breeze, carrying whispers of his words.
Three very simple words I can’t stand, yet they get me through the day.

I close my eyes to the sinking star, and he’s here,
His hand gently moves the hair fallen in my face,
His breath warm on my frozen skin,
Our lips brush against each others for a second.

My eyes open to find just another day dream, and the glowing ball of orange gone,
Replaced with white twinkles and a chilling lunar orb,
Clouds turning to black.

Time to head back to my prison, locked away without his comfort,
As night draws in its first breath.

Leaving my sweet delusion outside, where again tomorrow we’ll meet,
Underneath the trees lit on fire.