Verse 1
She lowers her voice when she’s alone,
like the room might be listening in.
Fingers tracing familiar thoughts
she never lets all the way begin.
The world asks little, she gives just enough,
keeps her hunger soft, keeps it slow.
But something inside her stretches gently,
learning how to grow.
Pre-Chorus
It’s not a scream, it’s not a need,
more a pulse beneath the skin.
A private warmth she carries close,
a place she lets herself be in.
Chorus
In the quiet, she grows larger,
not in sight, but in sensation.
Every breath feels heavier, sweeter,
full of weight and imagination.
She doesn’t tell, she doesn’t show,
she just knows what she knows.
There’s a power in her stillness,
in the quiet where she grows.
Verse 2
She thinks about hands, about distance,
about being felt before she’s seen.
About how closeness can change shape,
about what “small” has always been.
It’s not about breaking or taking too much,
it’s the comfort of being sure.
Of being the edge, the shelter, the force
that nothing needs to endure.
Pre-Chorus
She exhales and the world softens,
time loosens its careful grip.
In her mind she takes up space,
lets control rest on her hips.
Chorus
In the quiet, she grows larger,
every thought deepens the room.
The floor feels closer, the air feels thick,
like a held-back bloom.
She doesn’t tell, she doesn’t show,
she just lets the feeling flow.
There’s a power in her breathing,
in the quiet where she grows.
Bridge
No mirrors, no names, no watching eyes,
just her and the truth she keeps.
Some desires aren’t meant for daylight,
they’re meant for the dark where they seep.
She’s gentle with it, she’s patient too,
lets it unfold, lets it stay.
A secret that doesn’t beg for more,
only asks to be okay.
Final Chorus
In the quiet, she grows larger,
not above, but all around.
Like gravity learning her body,
like a slow, unspoken sound.
She doesn’t tell, she doesn’t show,
she doesn’t need to explain.
There’s a strength in her surrender,
and a sweetness in the gain.
Outro
By morning she’ll fit back into scale,
into smiles, into tone.
But tonight she holds herself softly,
and knows she’s never truly small,
never alone.
The_Oak_and_Anvil
