Letters to Myself

[Verse 1 – spoken softly] Hey you — the one who cried behind that broken door, who counted days like raindrops on the floor. You thought the world forgot your name, but you were only gathering flame. Now the lights are warm, the air feels kind, the city hums but you don’t hide. The songs you wrote when hope was thin, are playing back — and you begin. [Chorus – sung gently] These are letters to myself, to the girl I used to be. Every scar became a line, every line set me free. I’m still walking, I’m still me, but now I walk in melody. These are letters — letters to myself. [Verse 2 – sung, tender and soulful] There’s a key on my table, it opens a door, to a house I once dreamed of, and nothing more. No gold, no crown, just peace in my skin, a garden outside, and silence within. The world knows my voice, but not my pain, they hear the rhythm — not the rain. And I still whisper when nights get long, “Remember the girl who wrote the song.” [Chorus – with harmonies] These are letters to myself, to the woman I became. From the ashes to the sound, every loss had a name. Now I stand where the light fell, grateful that I didn’t sell the truth I keep — within myself. [Bridge – soft spoken / half-sung] Don’t chase the glitter, don’t drown in applause. You found your soul — don’t trade it for applause. Sing for the rain, sing for the night, for the ones who never found their light. [Final Chorus – rising gently] These are letters to myself, written on air, on pain, on peace. From hollow streets to open skies, I learned to fall, I learned to rise. Now I stand, and I exhale — this is my story, not for sale. These are letters — to myself. [Outro – softly humming, piano and strings fade]