Rush hour, wet shoes, coffee drying on my sleeve. My head’s still answering questions nobody’s asking me. Missed my stop, laughed about it, rode another one too far. I’m running on bad timing, mint gum and whatever’s left in the car. I’m cooked. Properly. Then your name lights up and somehow I remember how to breathe. You put me back in color. I come home grey, you make it warmer. One look, one laugh, and the whole day loses teeth. Back in color. Back in color. I don’t need much just you somewhere near me. Back in color yeah. Just like that. Long day, bad lunch, somebody used “circle back” six times. My patience died around four-thirty but I left it there. It’ll be fine. Train car, dead phone, one earbud working out of spite. By the time I make it home I’ve got exactly half a personality left tonight. Then you open the door looking like you’ve been waiting to tell me something stupid. Perfect. Go. You put me back in color. I come home grey, you make it warmer. One look, one laugh, and the whole day loses teeth. Back in color. Back in color. I don’t need much just you somewhere near me. I don’t need saving. That sounds exhausting. I just like how five minutes with you makes eight hours feel less important. And I like that you know when to talk, when to laugh, and when to just sit there looking good and let me recover. Very useful skill. You put me back in color. I come home grey, you make it warmer. One look, one laugh, and suddenly I’ve got energy to waste. Back in color. Back in color. All that noise can wait until tomorrow. Right now— I’ve got your face. Long day. Bad train. Good ending. I’ll take it.
