[Verse 1] My phone lit up against the plastic chair, There has been an update to your file. Blue-white television, hospital air, A paper cup rolls down the aisle. Every detail counts, the screen repeats. I press my thumbnail into my palm. The nurse sits down beside me quietly, Like she already knew I'd come. They told me you’d be sitting there. I turn my head. Who told you? She looks at the floor before she answers: You don't want to know who. [Pre-Chorus] Two voices somewhere down the hall, soft enough to make me lean. I catch one sentence through the noise— « La porte était déjà ouverte. » My heartbeat swallows every sound. The clock blurs into the wall. I look down at the paper in my hand. OPEN. [Verse 2] I rubbed the word until the ink bled blue across my skin. The door swung open without a sound. A voice behind it whispered, Not yet. Then a voice came from inside: You can come in now. I left the nurse behind me there. She didn't move. She only said, I'll be here. A doctor stood with his back to me, one hand resting on a paper file. Then, without turning, he said: You came back. For one second, I believed him. [Chorus] Twenty-twenty on the screen, twenty-twenty in the file. Something here remembers me from a place I can't reconcile. I keep looking at the open door, trying not to look away. If I leave, what disappears? If I stay, what stays the same? [Verse 3] A second chair was pulled out from the desk, a folder waiting there with my name. Another one beneath it, worn and thin, one word stamped across the frame. AFTERIMAGE. I reached for it, then stopped my hand. You don't have to read it. A knock came softly at the door. The nurse stood there. They’re waiting. A transcript from two doctors: The file was changed last night. We can't undo it now. [Bridge] They talked about whether you'd remember. A pause. Let them decide what they remember. There was a time stamped underneath: 20:20. Beside it: SEEN BY DR. BENNETT You don't remember that appointment? I knew exactly what he was talking about. Then why did you come? I came to see if it was still there. Then you should probably look. [Final Chorus] Paper plates and little glasses, laughter underneath the lights. Everybody watches that door, smiling like everything's alright. Then I see the nurse among them. There you are. The doctor looks at my hands. Blue ink from OPEN on my skin. It's your choice. The nurse looks across the room: Leave it open. So I do. I leave the door open. [Outro] The television flickers. Now it shows the waiting room again. Same chairs. Same hallway. Same door. But the clock says 20:20. On the screen, the door slowly closes. In front of me, it stays open. « La porte était déjà ouverte. » I turn around. The corridor is empty. Only the second chair. My letter lies on it. OPEN. Crossed out. I pick up my coat. I left it exactly where I found it.
