Borrowed Hearts

[ Lyrics ]

I’m not in love — I’m just borrowing their attention to feel whole.

Three vases on the counter, all from different hands,
roses, orchids, lilies — none from the same plan.
One sent them this morning, said I looked divine,
another last week when I didn’t laugh at his line.
But I wore the dress he liked, let him pay for the wine,
not 'cause I wanted him — just 'cause I liked the design.
And the way the candle flickered when he reached for my thigh
was a moment I needed, not a spark I believed.

I don’t miss your voice, I miss the echo it made,
don’t miss your touch — just the shape that it saved.
So when they say 'mine,' I don’t correct 'em — I let 'em decay.
I’m not healing in silence… I’m hiding in display.

I’m not in love — I’m just borrowing their attention to feel whole.
Not your replacement, just a loan from the fallout.
I let 'em think they’re close when I’m light-years downstream,
chasing the peace that you stole with a wink and a clean exit line.

Saw a post you posted — her foot in the frame,
ring on your sister’s finger, so I booked another name.
Drove up the coast with a guy who talks in quotes,
Frank Ocean lyrics and obscure film notes.
Held my phone like a trophy, stories on mute,
staged a laugh for the follower count, not the dude.
He said, 'You’re quiet tonight,' I said, 'Just in my truth,'
meant: I’m three men deep and still miss your stupid proof.

I don’t want forever — I want five minutes less alone.
Not a soul to rescue me — just a seat to pretend I’m not thrown.
These bouquets are receipts for the nights I couldn’t breathe,
not love letters — more like bills I can’t face with decency.

I’m not in love — I’m just borrowing their attention to feel whole.
Not your replacement, just a loan from the fallout.
I let 'em think they’re close when I’m light-years downstream,
chasing the peace that you stole with a wink and a clean exit line.

Alone with the ghosts in the glow of my screen,
scrolling through faces that don’t really mean.
One’s a distraction, one’s a habit, one’s just… there,
but none of them know I’m still dressing my scars for you, dear.

If love’s a currency, then I’m overdrawing debt,
if silence is power, why do I feel so wrecked?

I’m not in love — I’m just borrowing their attention to feel whole.
Not your redemption, just the aftermath of your role.
I wear their names like costumes, change 'em like sheets,
but the bed still smells like us when I’m begging for sleep.

I’m not in love…

Just borrowing…

To feel whole.