Song of the whistling hill

I think I am missing an imagined love, with the girl who ties her sunshine hair, in a bun that's smaller than the specs she wears,

I am lying sleepless, thinking of a few harsh words, that washed away our nothings, like a house of twigs in the pouring rain,

I tell myself so many times, this is foolish, to have a hurricane in my heart, for her who sleeps in another's arms,

But every once in a while, these long evenings refuse to pass, and I find myself staring at the forever far.