House in California

You step across the threshold—sunset through the blinds

Cold concrete floors, hollow rooms we leave behind

You trace my cigarette-stained windowsill

Whispering secrets nobody feels

“When I wake up, I’m afraid…” —you mutter, soft and low

That same echo, that same ghost we both know   

This house in California

Holds our scars in satin sheets

House in California

Where the daylight never meets

Our restless hearts and broken art

The walls repeat what we’ve become

House in California

Now the quiet’s beating like a drum

You pour another drink in motion slow

Mirror cracks and your silhouette glows

We chase illusions in faded Polaroids

Trying to out‑dream the nights we avoid

You say, “I don’t know who’s coming home”—again, that line

Familiar like regret, frozen in time 

This house in California

Keeps us tangled, incomplete

House in California

As the skyline bleeds deceit

We’re searching for a piece of peace

But the silence isn’t letting go

House in California

Where nothing’s ever whole

And we talk in riddles, half‑truths under neon lights

I’m drawn to your darkness like a moth to city night

But the distance keeps expanding in the spaces of our sighs

You and I—just two strangers staring through the same disguise

House in California

We built this on our broken bones

House in California

Now we sleep but dream alone

Still the walls remember us

In this state of halfway home

House in California

Where the two of us won’t ever grow