[Verse 1] I keep a little floor plan folded in my coat, add rooms in pencil while you’re setting out the plates. The kitchen drawer sticks; you kick it with your heel, then save me the crisp corner of the lasagna. I love this house. I know which stair complains. Still, I price a train ticket just to feel its name. [Pre-Chorus] A pastry at the counter, warm custard on my thumb; new shoes, a stranger’s grin—each says, “You could become…” I come home lighter, briefly. Then the receipt lies face-up by your keys, a tiny witness with teeth. [Chorus] I want to leave the room and keep the room around me; want the door, your hand, the laugh I know by heart— (no, not that rhyme) the laugh you make when the kettle spits. I’m grateful, I’m bored, I’m yours, I’m not done wondering. If I step out, I miss you. If I stay, I miss a life that never learned my name. Both can be true tonight. [Verse 2] I buy a ticket, cancel it, keep the little map. I flirt like I’m borrowing a coat I’ll bring right back. The thrill is sweet; so is your sleepy shoulder. I’m generous with oranges, stingy with the future. [Bridge] Maybe the extra room is only where I store all the selves I didn’t meet, still knocking politely. I hear you laugh downstairs. I don’t go. I do. [Chorus] I want to leave the room and keep the room around me; want the door, your hand, the laugh you make at the kettle. I’m grateful, I’m bored, I’m yours, I’m not done wondering. If I step out, I miss you. If I stay, I miss a life that never learned my name. I fold the map. Not neatly.
