How Shall I Describe It Again?

(Verse 1) The room was small… I think it was small— Or maybe that’s just how it felt. There was a coat on the back of a chair, Or something close to that. If I leave it out, will the moment blur? If I name every corner and wall, Will the story stop walking Before it learns to crawl? (Pre-Chorus) How much is memory, How much is stage? How much belongs On the page? (Chorus) How shall I describe it again? Enough so the thread stays tight. Enough so the door makes sense When it opens later that night. But not every shadow needs naming, Not every color must stay— If I draw every line for you Do you still find your own way? (Verse 2) The jacket was blue… or maybe just dark. Does the color change the scene? If the glass was on the left side Will someone notice if it’s been? I could measure every heartbeat, Every window, every street— But stories sometimes breathe better With a little missing heat. (Pre-Chorus 2) Some things guide the reader, Some things guide the air— The trick is knowing What belongs where. (Chorus) How shall I describe it again? Enough so the world holds true. Enough so the trail still leads Where the story meant to move. But not every whisper needs echo, Not every step must stay— If I leave a little silence Does the picture fade away? (Bridge) I put a lantern by the doorway, Then wonder if it shines too bright. I move the chair a little closer, Then push it back out of the light. I write the sky above the rooftops— Then strike the color from the page. One line to keep the path from breaking, One less to keep the world from a cage. (Final Chorus) So how shall I describe it again? Just enough to let it stand. Enough that the thread stays clear When it slips from hand to hand. Not every room needs measuring, Not every sky needs gray— Sometimes the shape of a story Is what we leave halfway.