I've taken up residence
in this borrowed bed
where the walls don't know my name
and the closet's almost bare.
There's a door I used to open
now I walk on by.
The master bedroom sleeps alone
while I learn to occupy less sky.
This is the guest room now where I'm a stranger to myself.
A smaller room, a quieter vow
to live on someone else's shelf.
These keys beneath my fingers play the songs we used to know.
Here in the guest room,
I'm learning how to let you go.
The piano knows I'm lying
when I say I'm doing fine.
Every chord's a confession,
every note's a borderline.
Between the man I was beside you
and this half-life I've become.
In a room meant for visitors where the visiting's never done.
This is the guest room now where I'm a stranger to myself.
A smaller room, a quieter vow
to live on someone else's shelf.
These keys beneath my fingers play the songs we used to know.
But here in the guest room,
I'm learning how to let you go.
Maybe someday I'll reclaim
the spaces that we shared.
But tonight I'll stay right here
in this diminished prayer.