Verse 1 Your room is still there, but it no longer breathes. The toys are gathering dust, as if they’ve given up waiting. I often go inside, without knowing why; perhaps I’m hoping that you’ll suddenly be back. Verse 2 They say it was for the best. They say you’re doing well there— with your grandma, with warm meals and quiet nights. I nod then, because I don’t have the strength to explain how every day without you takes the breath right out of me. Chorus I haven’t lost you, they say. But then why does it feel like a goodbye without a grave? You are alive, yet not with me. And that hurts almost more than any final loss. Verse 3 When I see you, you smile cautiously, as if you’ve become a guest in my life. I want to hug you, but my arms tremble, for fear of having to let you go again. Verse 4 At night, I wonder if you think of me. If you whisper my name before you fall asleep. Or if I’ve become just a memory that’s slowly fading away. Chorus (softer) I haven’t lost you, they say. But my heart knows better. For love needs closeness. And mine was taken from me, day by day. Bridge I am learning to let you go, without ceasing to be your mother. I am learning that love sometimes means suffering from afar. Outro Maybe one day you’ll come back, maybe not. But I’ll be here, with open hands and a heart that never left you. You are my son. Even if you don’t sleep here with me. Even though I don't see you often anymore.
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