it was nighttime in paris
and at a little café where the old men sat and dreamed
and the young man stood close by with his melodies
swirling around us, hailing love,

we talked late into the night
drinking our hot chocolate like it was something more
words spilling from our lips
while time stood still

and i wondered
if love ever ventured to disguise itself
as a brown-haired, sweet, silly boy who smiled at me
as he took my hand in his.

he asked me, can i sit with you?
yes, i replied, of course,
but he hesitated
til i had to pull him down.

fate, it was cruel to let me dream
and all too ironic that romeo and juliet
wept their heartsore pleas of love
while my spirit sang of hope.

and everyone knew but me—
everyone knew—about her.
but all i saw was you sitting beside me
eyes wide open and so very innocent.

but i think we could be beautiful, you and i
if we stretched to the tips of our toes
we could touch the sun,
i know it.

and if we reached far enough
we could take flight with a flock of passing birds
rise above the earth
and dance through the stars.

doesn't that sound wonderful?
take my hand and we'll fly,
and if we're lucky
we'll never have to come down.