The Sound
After

I made a home in the hush, learned every crack in the wall. Kept my name under dust, and barely answered at all. And there were days I disappeared, standing right there in the room, Like a ghost with a calendar, and a body I barely used. But something moved under the floor, some little mercy I couldn't ignore, Not a rescue, not a roar, just one note asking for more. And this is the sound after, the silence had its way, It's not a hallelujah, not sunlight breaking the grey, Just a voice in the rafters, trying not to fade. I wasn't healed and I wasn't brave, but I made a sound today. I wore quiet like a skin, till it tightened around my chest, Called it peace back then, but I was holding my breath. And there were things I never said, they grew teeth in the dark, And bit down on my sleep, left their names in my heart. So I sat with the lamp turned low, let the old hurt start to show, It came out crooked and it came out slow, but it came out so I let it go. And this is the sound after, the silence had its way, It's not a hallelujah, not sunlight breaking the grey, Just a voice in the rafters, trying not to fade. I wasn't healed and I wasn't brave, but I made a sound today. Maybe I was gone, maybe I was buried, Maybe I survived by staying ordinary. Maybe all this time I was not a ghost, Just a man in the dark standing too close To everything I lost, to everything I kept, To every little truth I swallowed with regret. Now my hands are shaking, but the piano knows where the quiet goes. This is the sound after, the long and empty night, It's not the end of hurting, just proof I'm still inside, Just a spark in the rafters, just a match in the rain. I wasn't fixed and I wasn't saved, I just made a sound today. I wasn't fixed and I wasn't saved, but I made a sound today.

I kept my breathing small, and kept a hand around my throat. I learned to disappear, without ever leaving town. I smiled enough for the room, and let the lights go down, And nobody ever asked where I'd been. They only saw the shape that I left in. I said it was peace, and I said it was mine, But I was losing time. Second skin silence, wrapped around my bones, I made a church of the absence, and prayed there alone. Second skin silence, you fit me all too well, I called it surviving, when I was locked inside myself. The phone would light up blue, like a moon I would not touch. There were names I almost answered, and there were days I missed too much. I kept my heart downstairs, where the dust and boxes live, Told myself I was healing, but I had nothing left to give. And every unsaid word grew teeth, drew through the floorboards underneath. I thought if I stayed perfectly still, nothing could get killed. Second skin silence, wrapped around my bones, I made a church of the absence, and prayed there alone. Second skin silence, you fit me all too well, I called it surviving, when I was locked inside myself. Maybe the quiet was kind, when the world was too loud. Maybe it held me together, when I could not be found. But the shelter turns into a prison, when you forget there's a door. I was safe from the damage, but not living anymore. So I put one hand on the piano, like a match against the cold, And the first note sounded broken, but it sounded like my own. And second skin silence, I am taking you off, Not all at once and not easy, and not without counting the cost. Second skin silence, you kept me and you lied. I called it surviving, but I was buried inside. I called it surviving, now I'm coming outside.

I said I was alright with my hands in my sleeves, Kept my voice steady enough for everyone to believe. I made jokes at the table like I still had a spark, Then I drove home quiet with the dashboard gone dark. I don't know when it started, this little habit of mine, Telling everyone I'm okay while I'm losing the fight. I lied about being fine, I lied with a smile on my face. I said I was just tired, like tired explains this place. I kept my head out of sight, like a dog at the door in the rain. I lied about being fine. I'm tired of lying today. I got good at the answers that don't answer a thing: Busy, but I'm hanging—yeah, you know how life can be. I carried all the thunder in a chest no one saw, Then I caught in weather when it all started to fall. And I don't need a rescue or a sermon in the light. I just need one honest room where I don't have to hide. I lied about being fine, I lied with a smile on my face. I said I was just tired, like tired explains this place. I kept my head out of sight, like a dog at the door in the rain. I lied about being fine, but I'm tired of lying today. Maybe I was scared you'd ask me to explain Why the smallest kindness made me look away. Maybe I was scared you'd see what I became: A man holding pieces and calling them a name. Maybe I was scared that if I let it show, You'd say, “I had no idea,” and I would say, “I know.” I lied about being fine. The truth found my face. I said I was just tired, like tired explains this place. I kept my head out of sight, like a dog at the door in the rain. I lied about being fine, but I'm tired of lying today. I lied about being fine, and I'm trying to mean what I say.

There's a room behind my ribs that I don't talk much about, Where I keep the lights turned low and the things I never touched. There's a chair against the wall where I learned to disappear, And a voice beneath the floorboards I pretended not to hear. It wasn't loud and it wasn't clear, Just a little ache drawing near. Not a rescue and not a sign, Just something living under mine. And from the hollow place, I heard the dark make a sound, Not enough to save me, just enough to turn me around. From the hollow place where I buried what I knew, I found a voice still breathing, and it sounded almost true. There's a box beneath the bed full of names I never sent, Half an apology folded up with everything I meant. I kept the windows painted shut, called the darkness privacy, But every night it hummed my name like it still remembered me. So I put my hands on the keys like I was asking to be seen, And every note came bruised and thin, but I let the first one in. And from the hollow place, I heard the dark make a sound, Not enough to save me, just enough to turn me around. From the hollow place where I buried what I knew, I found a voice still breathing, and it sounded almost true. And maybe empty isn't empty, maybe gone is not the end. Maybe I was waiting to find myself again. Maybe every locked room keeps an echo of the day Someone finally opens it and lets the dust bathe. I don't need a miracle, I don't need the sky to break. I just need one honest note to rise out of the ache. And if it shakes, it shakes, and if it cracks, it stays. I'll sing it anyway. From the hollow place, I heard the dark make a sound, Not enough to save me, just enough to turn me around. From the hollow place where I buried what I knew, I found a voice still breathing, and it sounded almost true. I found a voice still breathing, and it sounded almost true.

I said it wrong in the kitchen light, Put my hurt in a borrowed fight. You heard anger, I heard fear, Both of us just standing there. I made a wall out of one bad word, Let it do what I never learned: Keep you back, keep me safe, Then hate the distance that it made. I was swinging at shadows, calling it truth. I was losing myself and blaming you. What I meant was, I was scared and I sounded cruel. What I meant was, I needed help but I needed proof. What I meant was, I didn't know how to ask, So I lit up the room, then blamed you for the ash. I wore pride like a leather coat, Beat-up, black, and hard to hold. Kept my heart in the inside pocket, Like nobody deserved to know it. I said leave when I meant stay, Slammed the door just to hear you say Something that would prove me wrong, But you stayed quiet, and I stayed gone. I was swinging at shadows, calling it truth. I was losing myself and blaming you. What I meant was, I was scared and I sounded cruel. What I meant was, I needed help but I needed proof. What I meant was, I didn't know how to ask, So I lit up the room, then blamed you for the ash. I know sorry gets smaller the longer it waits. I know love turns to weather when you leave it in the rain. I know I made a martyr out of my own pain, Then called it self-protection when I couldn't say your name. I'm not here with excuses. I'm not here to be right. I just found the words I should've found that night. What I meant was, I was scared and I sounded cruel. What I meant was, I needed help but I needed proof. What I meant was, I didn't know how to ask, So I lit up the room, then blamed you for the ash. I lit up the room, then blamed you for the ash. What I meant was, I was trying to come back.

I kept the house so still I could hear the dust. Every room held its tongue, every shadow watched me leave. I put my words in drawers with the things I never wore, Called it keeping the peace while I waited by the door. And I didn't know the cost back then Of making silence my closest friend. I thought if nothing moved, nothing could begin again. I thought that the quiet kept me safe, I thought that it covered me, But every word I swallowed whole left bite marks underneath. I called it peace, I called it grace, I called it what I need, But I woke up full of holes, and the quiet had teeth. I learned to answer less till less was all I knew. I made a chapel out of absence, and I knelt in every pew. There were nights I almost called, but my hands went cold and weak, So I let the ringing die like a mercy falling asleep. And I didn't know the shape it made: A hollow room, a locked-up cage. I thought that the dark was leaving, but it only learned my name. I thought that the quiet kept me safe, I thought that it covered me, But every word I swallowed whole left bite marks underneath. I called it peace, I called it grace, I called it what I need, But I woke up full of holes, and the quiet had teeth. Maybe silence was a shelter when the world came apart. Maybe it held the storm, maybe it guarded my heart. But every locked room changes when you live there too long. The walls stop being walls and start singing alone. I don't hate what saved me, I just can't stay underneath. A blanket tends to bury you when you forget how to breathe. So I open up my mouth like a window in a storm, And I let the damage speak. I thought that the quiet kept me safe, I thought that it covered me, But every word I swallowed whole left bite marks underneath. I called it peace, I called it grace, I called it what I need, But I woke up full of holes, and the quiet had teeth. Yes, I woke up full of holes, and the quiet had teeth.

I rehearsed it in the car like the words could make me clean, Had my hands around the wheel like I could steer back anything. There was rain on the windshield, there was ash in my throat. I had practiced every sentence, but they all came out broke. And I know I don't deserve a softer place to land. I just needed you to hear it from the wreckage where I stand. Sorry was too small for the damage in the room, Too late for the moment, too thin for the truth. I said it with my hands out like there was something left to hold, But sorry was too small, and now I know. I mistook being quiet for doing something kind, But silence is a knife when it leaves someone behind. I was saving my own skin while you were asking me to stay. Now the truth is standing here with nothing good to say. And I won't dress it up like I was only scared. Fear may explain the fire, but it doesn't make it fair. Sorry was too small for the damage in the room, Too late for the moment, too thin for the truth. I said it with my hands out like there was something left to hold, But sorry was too small, and now I know. I don't need forgiveness to be handed back to me. I don't need the past rewritten so I can sleep easy. I don't need you smiling like the wound was not that deep. I just couldn't keep pretending it was yours alone to keep. There are debts you cannot pay, there are bells you cannot unring, There are nights you carry forward even when the morning comes. So I'll say it without asking for the ending to be kind: I am sorry for the damage and the silence I called mine. Sorry was too small for the damage in the room, Too late for the moment, too thin for the truth. I said it with my hands out like there was something left to hold, But sorry was too small, and now I know. Sorry was too small, and now I know.

I kept the truth behind my teeth like a match I wouldn't strike, Held my breath through every room, said nothing and called it right. I learned the shape of almost, I learned the weight of no, Had a mouth full of static and nowhere left to go. But every word I buried started knocking in my chest, And every night got louder than the fear I had left. I was afraid to speak, afraid of what it cost, Afraid the truth would leave me with everything I lost. But when the silence got heavy and staying quiet felt like dying, I opened my mouth, still scared but finally trying. Let it go, but I promise I'll be back home. I watched the years get smaller in the corner of my eyes, Made a friend out of avoiding, made a home out of disguise. There were names I never answered, there were doors I let go cold, There were things I called protection that were really just control. But every word I buried started knocking in my chest, And every night got louder than the fear I had left. I was afraid to speak, afraid of what it cost, Afraid the truth would leave me with everything I lost. But when the silence got heavy and staying quiet felt like dying, I opened my mouth, still scared but finally trying. Let it go, but I promise I'll be back home. And I thought silence was mercy, I thought silence was clean. I thought if I said nothing, I could keep the peace between. But peace is not the same thing as a room where no one bleeds, And quiet is not kindness when it teaches you to leave. So let the whole thing tremble, let the old walls split. If the truth comes out broken, at least it comes out lit. And I am not suddenly fearless, and I am not made of light. I just got tired of dying politely every night. I was afraid to speak, afraid of what it cost, Afraid the truth would leave me with everything I lost. But when the silence got heavy and staying quiet felt like dying, I opened my mouth, still scared but finally trying. I opened my mouth, still scared but finally trying. Let it go, but I promise I'll be back home. Let it go, but I promise I'll be back home.

I learned to talk around the truth like furniture in a crowded room, Made myself easy to pass by and wondered why nobody knew. I kept the real thing folded up in a drawer I never used, Sent the smaller version out loud and let the rest stay bruised. It's only so long you can disappear Before your own name sounds strange to hear. I was still breathing and still making noise, But somewhere in there, I forgot my voice. Somewhere trying to be kind, Somewhere making room for everyone but mine. And I forgot my voice, but it remembered me. I'm somewhere in the quiet, singing underneath. I answered with a softer face than the one that I wore inside, Made a language out of nodding and a life out of “I'm fine.” There were songs that I almost started, there were calls I almost made, There were words against my teeth that I swallowed every day. It's only so long you can disappear Before your own name sounds strange to hear. I was still breathing and still making noise, But somewhere in there, I forgot my voice. Somewhere trying to be kind, Somewhere making room for everyone but mine. And I forgot my voice, but it remembered me. I'm somewhere in the quiet, singing underneath. And maybe I confused peace with making no demands. Maybe I mistook love for disappearing where I stand. Maybe I got tired of being hard to hold, So I gave them something easy and buried who I am. But something kept on humming under all the broken home, Like a note beneath the floorboards, like a prayer without a song. I put my hands on the piano and let the first chord ache. It didn't sound like healing, but it sounded like my name. I forgot my voice somewhere trying to be kind, Somewhere making room for everyone but mine. And I forgot my voice, but it remembered me. I'm somewhere in the quiet, singing underneath. I'm somewhere in the quiet, singing underneath.

I don't trust the morning yet, but I still let it in. Open up the blinds halfway, like I'm making room again. There's a cup beside the sink, there's a shirt across the chair, Little signs that I survived, I am starting to care. And I don't know the shape of hope, I don't know the road. I just know I have my voice, and I don't wanna let it go. I'm learning to try, with a voice that still shakes, With a heart that's half lit, and a hand on the gate. And I'm learning to try, not to vanish this time. And if silence can break, then maybe so can I. Who do you think you are? What do you wanna do? Tell me who you are. I don't answer perfect yet, but I answer more than none. Let the real words leave my mouth before I make them run. There are people I still owe, there are rooms I need to face, There are versions of myself I'm learning not to hate. And I don't need a holy sign, I don't need the sky. I just need one honest step, and another after mine. I'm learning to try, with a voice that still shakes, With a heart that's half lit, and a hand on the gate. Thought I had to be steady before I had the right, But maybe shaking counts, maybe scared still moves. Maybe all I have to bring is one small honest truth. I'm not a brand-new person, and I'm not the morning light. I'm just the sound after a long and wordless night. And if the door is open, even just a little wide, I'll put one foot through, and call that trying. I'm learning to try, with a voice that still shakes, With a heart that's half lit, and a hand on the gate. And I'm learning to try, not to vanish this time. And if silence can break, then maybe so can I. Then maybe so can I.