Текст песни
You left your coat on my chair.
The blue one. Sleeve splitting at the seam.
I don't fix it.
Maybe because you never asked for it back.
I saw you at the bodega last week —
counting change like it mattered.
You laughed at something the cashier said,
and I swear —
you laughed like I was still in the room.
Now my hallway creaks the same,
but it doesn't sound like home.
It sounds like your ears are still ringing,
and I'm just the echo you left behind.
So I keep your half-said sentences —
the ones you dropped like cigarette ash —
folded in the lining of my jacket.
Dirt is lucky.
And you were almost mine.
Carry me.
Not in your pocket — I'm not that small.
Carry me in the space where your ribs remember breathing.
I'm not a paper cup.
I'm the rain that soaks through it.
I don't wash off.
And if you turn your back today —
if you choose the door, the street, the other name —
I won't follow.
But I'll be right there.
Where you left me.
Your note is still stuck to the fridge.
Ink went pale around June.
Same milk. Same chipped mug.
Same boots by the door that don't belong to me.
I cleaned the whole place twice.
Rearranged the furniture like that would help.
But my feet still know your route —
past the laundromat,
past the park bench where I almost told you everything,
past the corner where I swallowed my voice whole.
I carry your half-finished thoughts
like gravel in my shoe.
Uncomfortable? Sure.
But I'd rather limp than not feel you at all.
So keep me.
Not in your pocket —
keep me in the bone behind your heart.
Where the ache lives.
I'm the thing that stays
when everything else gets packed into boxes.
And if you leave today —
don't look back.
I won't be behind you.
I'll be in every doorway you walk through.
In every silence you can't name.
Say my name.
Not like a question — like a fact.
Say it cracked.
Like you're admitting something
you didn't want to know about yourself.
I tried to be okay.
Drank the water. Took the walks.
Let the sun hit my face like they tell you to.
But I got lost —
not in the crowd.
I got lost in the one face
I kept looking for.
Keep me.
In the pulse under your skin.
Even when you don't want to.
Even when my name turns foreign on your tongue.
I'll stay —
not because you asked.
Because that's what hearts do
when they've already given themselves away.
Keep me.
Wherever you go.
Even if we never touch again.
Not like a memory.
Like a heartbeat
you can't unhear.
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