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I don't know why I saved your scar
or kept your notes inside a char.
But every peace still breathes your voice
like love was never quite a choice.
I light the porch lamp every night
in case you miss the way it lights,
the way it flickers soft and slow
like saying yes, you still can go.
But I'm waiting still.
Like I don't mind.
Like love can bend the threads of time.
I wear your name like second skin.
Like something sweet I hold within.
I don't pretend to understand
I just still reach for your old head.
And when the sky begins to chill
you'll find me here just waiting still.
The kettle sings its same old song.
The one you sway to all night long.
And the steam fades far too fast.
It always brings a bit of past.
Your sweater drapes across my chair.
It keeps the shape of you still there.
I dust the books but leave that one
still open to the setting sun.
And maybe you've moved far away
but part of you refused to stray.
It lingers here where heart stood still
and mine, well, mine is waiting still,
still waiting still
for one soft sign
that you remember what was mine.
And if the stars align they will
they'll guide you home.
I'm waiting still.