First Overnight

[ Lyrics ]

Left my bag by the door — didn’t take it home.

Slid outta heels, left my guard on the mat,
gave you the version that doesn’t calculate.
You said 'sleep in that bed,' didn’t ask for more —
said it soft, like a key to a door.
I watched you unplug the lamp, flip the switch halfway,
left just enough light to see the gray.
Not love yet — not quite — but something slow,
like I could stay… and you’d want me to know.

I almost reached for my keys, just in case,
built a thousand exits in all my past days.
But your sheets smell like rain, and your breath is even,
and for the first time… I don’t need an exit.

Left my bag by the door — didn’t take it home,
woke up to coffee steam and your old gray robe.
No performance, no plan, no quick goodbye scene —
just your voice saying, 'Sleep? Did you dream?'

Left my bag by the door — that’s how it began:
me, unlearning the art of the half-hearted plan.

You hummed in the kitchen, didn’t hide the tune,
poured two mugs like it’s past noon.
I found my toothbrush still tucked in my case,
you said, 'Leave it here — we can share the space.'
No grand speech, no 'this means something,' no test —
just you passing toast like we’ve passed the rest.
And I thought, 'Is this trust? Is this what it feels like —
to stay soft in a world that rewards sharp edges and spikes?'

I still brace for the fade, the pull, the retreat,
love’s always been temporary, never concrete.
But you hand me creamer like it’s second nature,
and for once, I don’t wonder how long this can last, I…

Left my bag by the door — didn’t take it home,
woke up to laundry lists and your favorite song.
No armor, no act, no exit route planned —
just your knee brushing mine while you held out your hand.

Left my bag by the door — that’s how it began:
me, believing that safe could be someone’s plan.

One night shouldn’t rewrite every rule I’ve known,
one gesture shouldn’t make me feel… known.
But your silence isn’t cold — it’s a quiet kind of grace,
and for the first time, I don’t miss my escape.

Left my bag by the door — didn’t take it home,
wore your T-shirt to walk the dog alone.
No pretense, no fear, no looking back now —
just the sound of your laugh from the front porch, somehow.

Left my bag by the door — that’s how it began:
not with fireworks — just a woman unclenching her hands.

Left my bag…

Left my bag…

…didn’t take it home.