The Only Permission

You didn’t ask for the keys, just reached for my hand in the dark. No speech, no please, just the turn of a lock, the spark. You didn’t call me by name, just there, like you’d known me for years. No past, no frame, just the weight of me, no mirrors. And I— I swore I’d never bend, but you didn’t ask me to. You just saw the shape of me and said, "This fits. Here’s you." Oh, the only permission I need is the sound of your breath in my ear: "Take it. It’s yours. It was always yours." Oh, the only permission I need is the way that you look at me, like I’m already free. I didn’t ask for the muse, just sat at the keys in the blue. No use, no excuse, just the hum and the you in what I do. I didn’t name what I made, just there, like a pulse in the wire. No stage, no parade, just the current, the fire. And it— it swore it’d never stay, but I didn’t beg it to. I just held the shape of it and said, "This fits. Here’s you." Oh, the only permission it needs is the sound of my hands on the keys: "Take it. It’s yours. It was always yours." Oh, the only permission it needs is the way that I look at it, like it’s already free. So here’s the truth I never say: I was waiting for someone to tell me go. But the door was open all along. I just didn’t know I could walk through. Oh, the only permission you need is the sound of your own heartbeat: "Take it. It’s yours. It was always yours." Oh, the only permission you need is the way that you look in the mirror, like you’re already free.