Tuesday’s got a grey glow,
not sad, not bright—just in between
like the coffee I left half-finished
or the voicemail I didn’t delete
I’m walking home like it’s the last scene
not rushing,
just letting each footstep say
"I’m here"
streetlamp spotlight
bag rustling like applause
no crowd, but I bow anyway
some moments deserve a curtain call
I hum that melody I made up last week
four notes and a pause
maybe it’s a song,
maybe it’s just me remembering how to feel
no drama,
just day-old lipstick on my cup
and the way I look up at my ceiling
like it’s got stars no one else can see
credits roll in my head
cast: me, myself, maybe you
score by the city
directed by whatever this feeling is
fade out.
not sad, not bright—just in between
like the coffee I left half-finished
or the voicemail I didn’t delete
I’m walking home like it’s the last scene
not rushing,
just letting each footstep say
"I’m here"
streetlamp spotlight
bag rustling like applause
no crowd, but I bow anyway
some moments deserve a curtain call
I hum that melody I made up last week
four notes and a pause
maybe it’s a song,
maybe it’s just me remembering how to feel
no drama,
just day-old lipstick on my cup
and the way I look up at my ceiling
like it’s got stars no one else can see
credits roll in my head
cast: me, myself, maybe you
score by the city
directed by whatever this feeling is
fade out.