[Voice: Geneviève, 9-year-old child — she speaks to her mother, Emma (maman)] [Scene] They gave her a blanket. They dimmed the lights. They thought she was sleeping. But you weren’t, Maman. I know you weren’t. [Verse 1 — Geneviève] I sat on the floor and counted the glow of the vents behind the wall. They pulse like tide, slow… slow… slow… as if the sea could crawl. Every breath is a secret door — I learned the rhythm from you. Even if we’re not in the same room, I still feel what you do. [Chorus — almost prayer] The Garden opens when the night is thin — I hear it breathing from somewhere within. Light like water, water like song — I was never lost, Maman… just gone. [Verse 2 — style echo] You told me once — in that other time — that truth has more than one face. Some things belong to the body. Others… live in another place. I don’t know if I’m remembering or inventing what I recall — but your voice comes like warm summer grass through a crack in the wall. [Bridge — the Garden, but never defined] Some say it’s a memory. Some say it’s a room. Some say it’s the shimmer between breath and the womb. But I think it’s a path only we can hear — and it grows in the silence between one heartbeat and the next. [Chorus] The Garden opens when the night is thin — I hear it breathing from somewhere within. Light like water, water like song — I was never lost, Maman… just gone. [Outro] If dawn is the key — I’ll wait for dawn. Because you told me light always returns.
