I miss you like a snowstorm misses to be forecast.

I miss you like a snowstorm misses to be forecast.
It hurts me to know I must melt into this arid ground.

...I'll become the whisper which encourages a seed to grow,
only to one day be a blooming flower of your taste,
and be painted by that artist.

I'll be hanging on your wall,
I will watch your sleep again.

From that dusty corner,

from that messy desk.