He Was an Author (feat. Ayla Monroe)

He was an author with ink on his hands

A coat in the rain and impossible plans

We met by the Thames on a soft silver night

And spoke like old lovers till the first morning light

His voice held a warmth I had never known

A lilt from a place he called "somewhere back home"

With caramel skin and soft curling hair

He looked like a secret the night let me share

But time is a thief and dawn doesn't wait

I boarded my plane at Terminal Gate

New York in my veins mystery in his

A tale with no ending sealed with a kiss

I still wear the scarf that he tied on my coat

And sometimes I whisper the things that he wrote

I see him in pages in cafés in trains

A ghost in the margin a name in the rain

He said "Some stories are meant for one night"

But I've kept him alive in my memory's light

If I walk through that bookshop again would he be

Still scribbling fates not looking for me?

He was an author I was a rhyme

We shared just a moment untouched by time

But deep in my heart where the unwritten goes

He's the chapter I hope life someday still shows