Gravity of you

Hook

It’s the gravity of you—pulls me through the doorways I forgot,

your laugh like a magnet on my ribs, steady and not mine to fight.

I fell like a small radio catching a station in the dark—

soft signal, whole heart, kept you on repeat all night.

Verse 1

I learned your name between stoplights and late-night diner coffee,

you said something about rain and I kept it like a secret scripture.

There was a crater in my calendar where Sundays used to be;

you filled it slow with burnt orange afternoons and borrowed records.

I would drive past the harbor just to watch the moon argue with the bay,

and your voice would come on like a line of warning or a blessing.

Hook

It’s the gravity of you—pulls me through the doorways I forgot,

your laugh like a magnet on my ribs, steady and not mine to fight.

I fell like a small radio catching a station in the dark—

soft signal, whole heart, kept you on repeat all night.

Verse 2

You tasted like someone else’s summer, warm and a little reckless,

your left hand on the small of my back, pulling me into new maps.

We traded truths like passports—stamped, folded, then misplaced,

and every little lie I kept was just a way to get closer to your face.

There’s a photograph on my phone where your eyes look like short poems,

I scroll past them at work and call it research, call it loss prevention.

Hook

It’s the gravity of you—pulls me through the doorways I forgot,

your laugh like a magnet on my ribs, steady and not mine to fight.

I fell like a small radio catching a station in the dark—

soft signal, whole heart, kept you on repeat all night.

Verse 3

We used to rewrite the endings of old movies until morning,

you’d fix the bad lines with a cigarette and a crooked grin.

I built small altars around the house—an empty cup, your jacket,

little monuments to the ways you rearranged my center.

When the city hummed too loud, you were the quiet chord underneath,

a place to fold into like an unclaimed sweater in winter.

Hook

It’s the gravity of you—pulls me through the doorways I forgot,

your laugh like a magnet on my ribs, steady and not mine to fight.

I fell like a small radio catching a station in the dark—

soft signal, whole heart, kept you on repeat all night.

Verse 4

Now the mornings are a different kind of weather—familiar and sharp,

I pass your favorite coffee shop and the barista asks about us.

I say “we’re good” like it’s a tense that can still pretend,

but the tense that stays is the one where you come back to my porch.

I learned to measure loss in recipes we never finished cooking,

and love in the slow way a scar learns to shine when light finds it.

Hook

It’s the gravity of you—pulls me through the doorways I forgot,

your laugh like a magnet on my ribs, steady and not mine to fight.

I fell like a small radio catching a station in the dark—

soft signal, whole heart, kept you on repeat all night.

Outro

Porque music

See you when I see you

Otro