Verse 1
I found you in the hush between streetlight and sleep,
where the city exhales and keeps a single secret.
You were a slow constellation stitched into a coat,
a small geography of hands and unfinished letters.
I walked with my pockets full of unsaid directions,
tracing the soft country of your shoulder like a shore.
Chorus
Finding you is like folding daylight into a pocket,
learning the language of breath in a tiny room.
I hold you like a map with no name, all compass and hush,
and every fold returns me to the same small moon.
Verse 2
You keep a calendar of curious weather — rain for noise,
sun for the careful things we leave on counters.
Your laugh is a lighthouse, modest and stubborn,
guiding my shoebox of nights back to a familiar quay.
There are postcards in your eyes, stamps of things survived,
I read them slow, like someone deciphering tides.
Chorus
Finding you is like folding daylight into a pocket,
learning the language of breath in a tiny room.
I hold you like a map with no name, all compass and hush,
and every fold returns me to the same small moon.
Bridge
We trade small economies — a cup, a coat, a silence —
barter the cold for the heat of two bodies agreeing.
If the streets forget our footprints, the room keeps the shape,
an atlas of elbows and knees, the cartography of near.
I press my palm where your heart has been, a modest ceremony,
and the world, for a moment, learns how to be quiet properly.
Verse 3
At dawn you are a manuscript of light, margins curling,
and I am the quiet editor who will not erase.
We walk through alleys that remember our names,
and the morning folds us into its blue, reluctant hymn.
Finding you is no explosion — it is the patient art
of matching keys to doors, of learning to turn.
Final Chorus (soft)
Finding you is like folding daylight into a pocket,
keeping small suns for the times the night returns.
I hold you like a map that refuses to be lost,
and every fold — every careful fold — brings me home.
Porque music
See you when I see you
Otro
porquemusicOtro
