Verse 1 Ten years of quiet in a room with one lamp lit, two shadows learning how to breathe again. The screen was glowing, someone else was loving slow, and we just sat there — almost touching, almost whole. I didn't know where to put my hands, you didn't know where yours could land, so we watched the light move on the wall and let the silence say it all. Pre-chorus Then your lips found the thin skin of my throat, and I heard myself exhale a sound I'd kept remote. Your beard against my neck — a soft, familiar ache, the kind of wound that only time can make. Chorus And you move like something I remembered in a dream, slow and sure, like you've been waiting just for me. I come apart and paint your mouth in molten pearl — a string of light that only your face could hold. And you don't wipe it off. You just look up at me, like I'm the only prayer you ever learned to speak. Ten years, and still — I melt beneath your hands. I melt beneath your hands. Verse 2 We didn't make it to the bed, we never do, the wall was cold and you were warm and true. I felt the years unknot themselves inside my chest, each thrust a line of something I confess. I rode you slow, then faster, then I lost the count, your hands were holding me like I was something found. And when I broke, I broke across your lips, and you just stayed there — didn't move, didn't slip. Bridge You said you tried. I said I tried too. Nobody fit. Nobody was you. Not the hair, not the voice, not the laugh — just a room full of almosts and a photograph. Final chorus (soft) And you move like something I remembered in a dream, and I come apart and paint your mouth in molten pearl. You hold my gaze and let me fall apart — the way you did right from the start. No one else. Not then. Not now. Not ever. Just this. Just you. Just this. Just you. Just this. Just me and you.
