SAY IT AGAIN

You said it into my shoulder.

I heard you. (mmm)

I just wanted

to hear it again.

Morning coming through the curtains,

your shoes somewhere by the door.

We stayed up talking past the point

we knew what we were talking for.

Then somewhere between half asleep

and turning toward the light,

you said three words so quietly

I almost let them pass me

by.

I said, "What?"

You smiled.

You knew I heard you

the first time.

Say it again.

A little slower.

Let me hear

what happens to your voice.

Say it again.

Don't make it better.

I don't need another version.

I just like this one.

Say it again.

I've spent so long rehearsing every sentence in my head,

trying to find the safest way

to mean the things I meant.

But you don't sound rehearsed at all.

You breathe.

You stop.

You start.

And somehow all the crooked words

go straight into my heart.

So don't clean it up.

Don't take it back.

Leave the little shake

exactly where it was.

Say it again.

Come a little closer.

Let the words fall

wherever they

fall. Say it again.

You don't have to mean it

any more than you did before.

I just wanna hear you

say it again.

Maybe tomorrow

we'll get it wrong.

Maybe we'll talk too much.

Maybe I'll shut down,

you'll walk away,

then call me from the bus.

Maybe love is mostly saying the same things in a hundred different

ways. So if I forget

what you meant tonight,

say it again.

Say it again.

Not any louder.

I can hear

you

from right here. Say it again.

And I'll say it with you.

No perfect words. No perfect time.

Just your voice, then mine.

Say it again. Say it again.

I heard you.

I know.

(ahhh) One more time.