A Quiet Geology

[Verse 1]
The 4A bus sighs diesel at the Pinstone Street stop.
I trace the spiderweb of cracks across my laptop.
A hairline fault from where I dropped it that Tuesday in the frost,
Another tiny map of something loved and something lost.

[Chorus]
And this is my quiet geology,
Mapping the stress lines where no one else can see.
A catalogue of every slow yield,
What pressure makes and what it won't reveal.

[Verse 2]
In the flat on Meersbrook Park, there's a chalk mark on the wall.
It's where the bookshelf stood before you took it in the fall.
You'd said, "Don't worry, love, it's nothing that a damp cloth can't conceal."
But I still smell the wet wool of your coat, the ghost of how that felt.

[Chorus]
And this is my quiet geology,
Mapping the stress lines where no one else can see.
A catalogue of every slow yield,
What pressure makes and what it won't reveal.

[Bridge]
It's not about the physics of the fracture or the strain.
It's the tectonic shift that happens when you whisper someone's name
To an empty room, and the silence just stays the same.

[Outro]
I press my finger to the glass.
Another line to trace.