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.