I keep a map beneath the

[Verse 1]
I keep a map beneath the paper,
creased where no one ever goes,
with little marks for every silence,
every door I never closed.
There are names I write in pencil,
then erase before the ink can dry,
as if forgetting were a language
I could learn by morning light.

[Verse 2]
And the window holds the evening
like a secret in its frame,
I don’t need to call it healing
just because I stayed.

[Chorus]
So let the days fall out of order,
let the hours lose their shape,
I’ll keep something of the chaos
in the margins of the page.
I was looking for an answer,
now I’m learning not to know,
there are things I leave unsaid
just to give myself room to grow.

[Verse 3]
A photograph between two chapters,
someone laughing out of frame,
I remember who I wanted
to become before I changed.
There’s a coffee stain like weather
on a sentence from July,
funny how the smallest accidents
can outlive the grandest lines.

[Verse 4]
And the room grows slowly darker,
but I don’t reach for the light,
some things only make their meaning
when you stop asking why.

[Chorus]
So let the days fall out of order,
let the hours lose their shape,
I’ll keep something of the chaos
in the margins of the page.
I was looking for an answer,
now I’m learning not to know,
there are things I leave unsaid
just to give myself room to grow.

[Verse 5]
Maybe I was never meant
to understand the weather,
only notice when it changes
and remember I was there.
Maybe every unfinished sentence
isn’t asking to be fixed,
maybe some of us are written
in the spaces between the lines.

[Verse 6]
So let the leaves forget the branches,
let the cold arrive on time,
I’ll make peace with what is leaving
without calling it goodbye.
And if tomorrow finds me different,
I won’t ask it to explain,
I’ll just open up the window
and begin the page again.

[Verse 7]
No grand ending,
no perfect line,
just a little more of myself
than I had yesterday.