ECHOES

I still hear you... and you ain’t even here. That’s the problem.

We’ve been standing in the doorway so long neither one leaves. Too much history to call it over. Too much damage to call it peace.

One good night and I’m rewriting everything I swore I knew. One kiss makes six bad months feel like something we could still undo.

That’s dangerous.

I call it timing. Call it space. Call it healing. Anything sounds better than admitting I don’t trust what I’m feeling.

’Cause I don’t know if I miss you or the man I was with you. Don’t know if I want you back or just hate imagining somebody living what I pictured.

Every time I leave... something pulls me back. But hearing your voice in my head doesn’t mean you’re calling.

Echoes... Echoes... Everywhere I go. Echoes... Echoes... Even when I know.

I can miss you. I can feel it. I don’t have to follow home.

Echoes... Echoes... Some things stay loud after they’re gone.

Still hear you. Still don’t mean I answer.

Friday we’re perfect. Saturday distant. Sunday I’m searching for what the hell shifted.

You say nothing changed. I say, “Okay.” Then spend all night trying to decode your face.

That’s exhausting.

Called it passion ’cause unstable sounded ugly. Said love takes work while quietly wondering why it kept taking so much from me.

I know your silence. Know the look. Know the breath before goodbye. Know the exact little sentence that’ll get me to stay one more night.

“We’re going through something.” Yeah. How long does something last?

At what point is fighting for tomorrow just refusing to let yesterday pass?

And here’s the part I never wanted to admit:

Maybe I’m not scared of losing you. Maybe I’m scared all this pain meant nothing if this is really it.

That’s sunk cost wearing perfume. That’s memory acting like a reason.

Echoes... Echoes... Everywhere I go. Echoes... Echoes... Even when I know.

I can miss you. I can feel it. I don’t have to follow home.

Echoes... Echoes... Some things stay loud after they’re gone.

Maybe missing you ain’t a message. Maybe hurting ain’t a sign.

Maybe an empty place makes noise because something lived there for a long time.

That’s all an echo is. Something gone... still making sound.

Echoes... Yeah, I still hear ’em. Echoes... Don’t mean I need ’em.

I can miss you. I can love you. And still know where I don’t belong.

Echoes... Echoes... I can hear you and keep moving on.

An echo isn’t a voice. I don’t have to answer.