I've learned to love this quiet room, the dust that settles slow, I've memorized the scent of gloom, the place where nothing grows. I built my world a fragile shrine, to hope that won't give way, and every chance at something fine, I politely turn away. They tell me life's a moving stream, that time can heal all wounds, but I'm tethered to a fading dream, beneath these silver moons. It isn't that I can't find a new path, the options are clear and bright, It's just that every joy I pass, feels wrong without your light. This life I've put on hold for you, is slowly turning cold, but I cannot wear a color new, while this chapter stays untold. I know the key to my own door, is hanging there in sight, but I keep repeating to the core: I know I'm standing still, but I refuse to press 'play.' The mirror shows a younger me, trapped in a timeless vow, I gave my future openly, to an uncertain now. The gentle, open hearts I meet, deserve a love complete, But I withhold the honest beat, admitting my defeat. The sacrifice was meant to prove, a loyalty divine, nut now I only slowly move, on this self-drawn border line. I leave the porch light burning low, a beacon for the lost, and keep the window shades pulled so, regardless of the cost. I clear a space beside my plate for just one empty chair, my whole existence is a state of constant, hopeful repair. This daily, lonely maintenance is all the life I claim, a ritual of abstinence, whispered by your name. It isn't that I can't find a new path, the options are clear and bright, It's just that every joy I pass, feels wrong without your light. This life I've put on hold for you, is slowly turning cold, nut I cannot wear a color new, while this chapter stays untold. I know the key to my own door, is hanging there in sight, but I keep repeating to the core: I know I'm standing still, but I refuse to press 'play.' And maybe the tragic, brutal truth, is that your coming back, Is just the final act, the ultimate proof, to let me off this track. A final, necessary, closing word, a sentence to be done, so that this frozen, hopeful bird, can finally catch the sun. The lock is rusted, and the frame is weak, But the only change I'll ever seek... Is the sound of your footsteps, or the strength to concede... That I need to change, and let go of this need. I refuse to press 'play.'
