I Stay

[Verse 1] It’s been a quarter of a century and time has folded in on itself, like summers pressed between pages that never really closed. I see you from across the room and something under my skin aligns without asking, like gravity remembering its work. [Pre-Chorus] My body knows before my mind agrees, there’s a shift in the air when you breathe. [Chorus] I love you. Not louder than the room, not bigger than the day. I love you. I choose this— the table, the laughter, the ordinary light. I choose this. And I stay.   [Verse 2] Half a lifetime later you walk into my house like you’ve always known the way, like the door was built for you. We talk about nothing— emails, passwords, small practical things— and still the quiet fills with color, still the walls hold something warm. [Pre-Chorus] Time doesn’t undo what’s real, it settles deeper in the bones. [Chorus] I love you. Without claiming, without rewriting the lines. I love you. I choose this— the messages, the birthdays, the space we keep. I choose this. And I stay. [Bridge] I imagined other versions once— hands held longer, nights without edges. I let them dissolve. This is not less. This is clear. You are not a question I need answered. You are a presence I recognize.   [Final Chorus] I love you. In the daylight, in the quiet after we say goodbye. I love you. I choose this— the shape we’ve given time, the way it doesn’t break. I choose this. I stay. I stay.