Lyrics written by me: Kei or sakurap ---------------------------------------- Woke up in a room I don’t remember choosing. Same clothes as yesterday, but they feel borrowed. My phone says I replied to people I don’t even like. There’s food on the table I don’t remember making. I check the mirror — and she looks like she’s waiting for me to catch up. Move. You’re too slow. You always freeze when it matters. Let me handle it — you break everything you touch. You blink, I take over. You panic, I clean the mess. You call it “losing time.” I call it “doing your job for you.” I didn’t mean to disappear. I just needed quiet. Everything gets too loud, too bright, too fast. I leave notes for you, but you never read them. Or maybe you do and forget again. Where were you? Where was I? Where were we? Doors open, doors close, none of them stay locked. We’re someone else again, trying to fit inside one name. Today we laugh, tomorrow we vanish, the day after we wake up somewhere we don’t remember going. We’re someone else again… and none of us know who started the day. I don’t wait for you. I don’t ask. I take the wheel when you start shaking. I answer the messages you avoid. I say the things you’re scared to say. I walk into rooms you can’t handle. You call me “too much.” I call you “not enough.” If I didn’t show up, you’d fall apart in public. I find receipts for things I didn’t buy. People greet me like we talked yesterday. I nod and pretend. It’s easier than explaining that I wasn’t the one who was here. Maybe we’re a hallway with too many lights flickering on and off. Maybe we’re a playlist someone keeps skipping through. Maybe we’re a drawer full of keys with no labels. I’m here. No, I am. Move. Stop. Let me breathe. Let me speak. Let me disappear. Let me stay. Let me— (static) We’re someone else again, but maybe that’s how we survive. If we hold what’s left of us gently, maybe we won’t break this time. We’re someone else again… but maybe that’s still us.
