Recursive Meadow (Hollow Jane)

[Verse 1] My footprints were already there, silver in the morning grass. Every blade leaned toward the path like it knew that I would pass. Insects held a quiet rhythm. Light kept splitting into two. I had not yet crossed the meadow, but the meadow knew I would. [Pre-Chorus] Don’t ask which one is mine. Don’t turn around just yet. Something in the field keeps making versions out of what it kept. [Chorus] This meadow remembers me in versions, soft as static, green as glass. Every time I think I’ve found it, I’ve already wandered past. Not a warning. Not an echo. Just a trail that won’t stand still. I was only trying to cross it. It was learning how I will. [Verse 2] By the fence, the clover opened, then it closed as wind moved through. My jacket caught a borrowed shiver like a hand I almost knew. There was no gate, but something parted. There was no voice, but something stayed. I could feel the field remembering all the shapes I almost made. [Pre-Chorus] Don’t call it fate or memory. It’s smaller than a sign. Just the sense that something found me before I thought to call it mine. [Chorus] This meadow remembers me in versions, soft as static, green as glass. Every time I think I’ve found it, I’ve already wandered past. Not a warning. Not an echo. Just a trail the light renews. I was only trying to find it. It was keeping something of me too. [Bridge] Maybe nothing here repeats. Maybe everything returns changed. Every self I almost carried left a brightness in the grain. So I stopped asking what was missing. I stopped asking what was true. Something moved before I saw it, and the distance opened through. [Final Chorus] This meadow remembers me in versions. Now I hear them in the leaves. Not enough to make them certain. Just enough to make me leave something lighter, something open, something unfinished in the blue. If I never cross it fully, maybe that is how it stays with me too. [Outro] When I turned, the dew behind me held one more set of steps than mine.