The
light still falls where you once lay
The pillow keeps your shape that way
We used to talk till 3am
Now silence sleeps where love had been
I hear your breathing miles away
Even though you're here you never stay
The sheets remember what we said
But we were strangers in our own bed
The distance grew in folded sheets
A quiet 101 concedes
We were strangers in our own bed Hearts turned cold by words unsaid
Side by side but worlds apart Aching ghost with beating heart
You looked through me and I through
you Pretending sleep was something true
And every dream we ever fed Died between us in that bed
Someone asked me, what is your weakness?
I replied,
I'm sensitive.
The smallest things hurt me,
whether it's a harsh word,
a disappointed look,
or a simple
misunderstanding.
Then they asked,
what's your strength?
My sensitivity may be my weakness,
but it's also my strength,
because it allows me to
find beauty and happiness in the smallest of things.
And that's what keeps me going every day.
I smiled and said,
little things make me happy too.
A kind gesture,
a thoughtful word,
or even just a moment of peace can bring me immense joy.
What did you think?
That we wouldn't return?
Wrong!
Until we see the face of the dead,
we won't leave until we see the face of the living.
No friends,
no problem.
No girlfriend,
no boyfriend, no problem.
No cash, big problem.
Close to hearts unread,
we were strangers in our own bed.
And maybe love just learns to fade,
to make more room for what's decayed.
I tried to fight the quiet war,
but silence always wanted more.
You slept beside me,
but you were gone.
I breathed your name,
and it felt wrong.
We were strangers in our own bed,
trying to love what time misread.
Our echoes lingered soft,
afraid,
like flowers pressed that never fade.
Now when I dream, I see instead,
two strangers in our own bed.
Two strangers in our own bed.
Two strangers in our own bed.