(Verse 1)
I fall again.
Not because I’m tired—
but because you wait
where the world can’t follow.
The night softens,
the air turns hollow,
and your shadow curls
around the edges of my mind.
I’m not supposed to be here.
But I come anyway.
(Chorus)
Sleep is the door
I’m forbidden to open—
yet I slip through it,
again and again,
for a touch that doesn’t exist
and a voice that breathes my name
from a place without breath.
I know I’m avoiding the living.
I know.
But you are the dark I choose.
(Verse 2)
You never speak clearly—
just whispers shaped like warmth,
never real,
never gone.
Your presence stains the silence,
a comfort wrapped in cold.
Daylight feels wrong without you.
Waking feels like exile.
(Chorus)
Sleep is the door
I’m forbidden to open—
yet I slip through it,
again and again,
for a touch that doesn’t exist
and a voice that breathes my name
from a place without breath.
I know I’m avoiding the living.
I know.
But you are the dark I choose.
(Bridge)
Maybe I’m dissolving,
slowly,
softly,
letting myself fade
just to meet you
halfway.
Maybe that’s the price—
a life traded
for a dream
that feels more like home
than anything waking ever gave me.
(Final)
So I fall again,
deeper this time,
into the quiet where you wait.
If the world asks why I’m sleeping—
tell it
I stayed
where I finally felt seen.
Even if you aren’t real.
Even if I’m not supposed to be here.
You are the dark I choose.