Track 24

But I never saw you leave the door.
Your scent in the thread count weighted more than the body count of nights we tried to keep apart,
But folded back into the start.
It's not love, not sin, just a trace on the linen.
Not loud-loud, not clear, but it pulls like it's still near.
I didn't name it when it grew,
But I feel it when I move through.
Not it in voice, not in spin, just your trace on the linen.
I used to think I needed closure,