The steering wheel knows the shape of your hand, Worn smooth from a thousand drives to the office, I take the same route now, but the passenger seat Holds nothing but the ghost of your coffee cup. The radio plays the song you hated, And I can't bring myself to change it. The morning light breaks through the windshield, And I'm still driving toward a home that doesn't know you're gone. But the house still holds your shape, In the doorway, in the kitchen, In the space between the bed and wall. The house still holds your shape, And I'm learning how to live in the spaces you left behind. We sat at that table in the corner café, The one with the crooked window facing the street, You ordered the same thing every time Toast, jam, black coffee, no sugar. I ordered it yesterday. The waiter didn't ask. The fork felt heavier in my hand, And the jam tasted like every goodbye we never said. But the house still holds your shape, In the doorway, in the kitchen, In the space between the bed and wall. The house still holds your shape, And I'm learning how to live in the spaces you left behind. We flew to that city with the narrow streets, Where you laughed in a language you didn't speak, And I watched you disappear into the crowd, Then reappear with wonder in your eyes. The hotel room was small and warm, Your jacket draped across the chair, And I thought we had infinite mornings like that Waking to the sound of your breathing, The city alive outside our window. The vast spaces between the stars Are nothing compared to the space in this house now, Where the silence has weight, Where the emptiness has a name. But I drive to work, I sit at the café, I walk through rooms that still smell like you, And I'm learning Not to forget, But to carry it differently. The steering wheel still knows the shape of your hand, Even though my hands are the only ones holding it now. The house still holds your shape, In the doorway, in the kitchen, In the space between the bed and wall. The house still holds your shape. Lyrics by inquiee
