Together, we write words for those like us. 

We are cynical. 

But our worlds bloom as flowers in a world we see decaying. 

Although the soil is dry, you and I refuse to become disenchanted. 

I, like you would for me, will tie a thousand balloons together to keep us lifted, playing, romancing the clouds. 

You will remain a boy and I a girl, although we will watch eachother with our grown up eyes. 

I will see you, lying on your giant cloud that floats with it’s brown hair flowing down, leading to Argentina.