[Verse 1] I love this kitchen’s chipped blue tile, your coat asleep against the chair. I know which floorboard tells on me, which drawer keeps birthday candles there. Still, I browse apartments in a town where nobody knows my coffee order. A little cardboard model of a life with all the walls moved an inch farther. [Pre-Chorus] I buy a pastry, eat it warm; for six sweet minutes, I’m not keeping score. Then bring home pears for both of us and hide the receipt beneath the door. [Chorus] I want the room we built; I want the hallway that could lead somewhere I’ve never been. I love you like the rent is due on Friday, and dream of checking in as someone else again. I’m grateful—there, I said it—and I’m bored here; both can sit beside the keys. I don’t want to leave you. I want the selves who never learned these rooms by heart to breathe. [Verse 2] New shoes, new menu, stranger’s laugh— the fizz is real; I won’t call it fake. I flirt like I’m testing a fire exit, then save you the last slice of cake. I give away the jacket I just bought, then mourn it like it knew my name. The tiny house inside my chest has wheels; I keep parking it in the same place. [Breakdown] No children’s drawings on the fridge— just our list: lentils, soap, call Mum. I could be decent and still want more. I could want more and still come home. [Final Chorus] I want this room, I want the hallway— I keep one hand on either door. You laugh; I laugh a beat too late, then laugh for real. I love you more than my clean little plans can hold. The key turns. I don’t know what that means. I’m here, with one shoe on, one shoe off, and both lives folded in the seams.
