[Intro — whispered, piano only, breath audible] God, I don't know how to say this out loud, so I'm writing it. Maybe that's what I've been doing all along. Writing the things I couldn't say. Writing to You because You were the only one I thought might stay. [Verse 1 — voice and piano, no drums, room noise] My mother wondered why I kept closing doors — why I stopped explaining, why I stopped coming down for dinner. She'd ask me what was wrong and I'd say nothing. Not because nothing hurt. Because everything did, and I didn't have a word small enough to hand her. So I disappeared behind a bedroom door. I disappeared into a glowing screen at two in the morning. I disappeared into silence, because silence was the only thing that never asked me to explain myself. But You were in there. You knew the nights I stared at the ceiling and begged my own heart not to become something I couldn't bring back. You knew the prayers I wrote with shaking hands and then tore into pieces so nobody would find them. You knew me before I knew me. [Pre-Chorus — synth pulse and sub-bass enter, no drums] And God, if I'm honest — I was angry at her. I was angry at You. I was angry that nobody could hear me when I never once opened my mouth. Fix her, I used to pray. I never asked You to fix me. [Chorus — brushed percussion, ghostly harmonies, reverb opens] These are my written prayers, the words I couldn't say, the pieces of my heart I hid away. I thought I had to carry every broken thing alone — but You were in the silence, You were waiting in the dark, You were holding every piece I thought was gone. These are my written prayers. Not beautiful. Not complete. Just the truth I finally found the courage to leave here at Your feet. And if You really know me, God, then know me here — not the girl everybody thinks I am. The girl who was afraid to disappear. [Verse 2 — percussion out, voice and piano, steadier, less whispered] I wish I could go back and let her sit beside me. Not fix it. Not ask. Just sit in the room and let the silence breathe. But I know what I'd do if she tried again. I know I'd close the door. She had a map, God — it just wasn't for this country. She kept reading me the directions to somewhere I had never been. Two people trying to love each other through a language neither of us spoke. So help me forgive her before I understand her. Help me stop keeping the ledger. Because there were nights she couldn't reach me — and there were nights I made sure she couldn't. But You reached me. Somehow, You reached me. [Chorus — harmonies fuller, reversed piano underneath] These are my written prayers, the words I couldn't say, the pieces of my heart I hid away. I thought I had to carry every broken thing alone — but You were in the silence, You were waiting in the dark, You were holding every piece I thought was gone. These are my written prayers. Not beautiful. Not complete. Just the truth I finally found the courage to leave here at Your feet. And if You really know me, God, then know me here — not the girl everybody thinks I am. The girl who was afraid to disappear. [Bridge — piano only, near silence, single voice, no doubles] I don't need You to erase my past. I need You to teach me how to stop living inside it. I don't need every wound to mean something. I need You to stay in the room while it closes. And if she ever finds these pages — let her know I wasn't trying to punish her. I was trying to survive myself. Every door I closed was a question I didn't know how to ask: Will you still love me if you see all of this? Teach me to believe the answer is yes. [Low heartbeat percussion — restrained, wordless choir far back] So here it is. The notebook under the mattress. The drafts I never sent. The mornings I practiced my face in the mirror before I came downstairs. The prayers I thought were too small for heaven. Take them. I don't want to hide anymore. If I can't speak it, I'll write it. If I can't write it, I'll breathe it. If I can't breathe it — sit with me until I can. I never had to perform being okay for You. I just didn't know that yet. [Final Chorus — full arrangement, post-rock swell, wide stereo, soaring harmony] These are my written prayers, and now they have a voice. Not because I'm not broken. Because I've stopped calling it a secret. You were there inside the silence. You were there inside the fear. You were there the whole long year I thought that nobody could hear. Maybe I was never too difficult. Maybe I was never too far gone. Maybe You were writing something underneath my words all along. And God — if I don't know how to love myself yet, love me for me until I can. [Outro — everything falls away, whispered, single piano note, breath] I thought I was writing because nobody could hear me. But You heard me. You always heard me. Maybe that's what the pages were for. Not to prove how broken I was — to prove I was never in the room alone.
