Glass Lanterns

Stay here— just stay here.

You’ve got a storm behind your smile

and you wear it like it’s nothing.

I catch the tremble in your laugh,

the way your words keep running.

You stare right through the room,

like you’re somewhere I can’t reach,

so I move in close and quiet

and I speak without a speech.

Give me the hard part—give me the steep.

Give me the ache you don’t release.

If you can’t find a way to say it,

let me be what you can lean on.

Come with me—come with me through the part that tries to pull

you under. Stay with me—stay with me,

I won’t let you go alone.

If your chest turns into thunder,

let mine stay calm and keep you near.

Come with me—come with me,

I’m here.

Old ink still lives on your skin

even after you wash it.

Some marks don’t lift,

they just fade

into the way you talk.

And when you tell me you’re “okay,” it lands like paper in

the rain— so I don’t ask you to explain,

I just keep calling you back in.

Give me the rough side—give me the strain.

Give me the hours you can’t retrace.

If your thoughts start turning on you,

let my voice be the line you follow.

If you come apart,

I won’t turn away.

If you go quiet,

I’ll still remain. We don’t have to name the damage— we just

have to make it through.

Come with me—come with me

through the part that tries to pull you under.

Stay with me—stay with me,

I won’t let you go alone.

If your chest turns into thunder,

let mine stay calm and keep you near.

Come with me—come with me,

I’m here.

Stay here—

I’m here.