[Verse 1]
It's a Tuesday, 11:47, thumb doing laps around the glass,
porch light of her profile, you're circling like a moth in math class.
There's a new jacket hanging where your old one used to be,
same corner booth at Ronnie's, same neon, different company.
She's laughing at a joke you didn't write, didn't even hear,
and you're doing inventory — his jaw, his car, his beard,
measuring your old love like a tailor with a grudge,
every photo turns to ledger and you're drowning in the budget.
You didn't mean to look, the night just opened like a drawer,
now you're weeks deep in a stranger's unlocked front-door tour,
counting likes like coins you lost in someone else's couch,
calling it curiosity but it feels more like a slouch.
[Chorus]
I'm standing at my own front door, watching someone else walk in,
counting all the ways I lost before the losing could begin.
It's not him I'm missing, it's the mirror that keeps score —
I just want to stop comparing shadows at this door.
[Verse 2]
So I did the dumb small thing: I put the phone face down,
texted Marisol, said "come get coffee," not "come talk me off the ground."
She showed up in slippers, called my spiral apophenia —
that's seeing patterns in the static, like the noise is writing you a eulogy.
A smile in a cloud, a message in the way he holds his keys —
turns out her new jacket's not a signal, not a sign, it's just fabric on a breeze.
I opened up the quiet app instead, the one that holds my file,
no feed in there to find them in, no mirror, no profile —
just a page for what I'm carrying, no shadow left to chase,
and for ten whole minutes, nobody else was in the frame.
[Bridge]
Still, his birthday's circled red though I erased the little bell,
and some kind of comparing I ain't learned to sell.
Won't pretend the algorithm's the only thing that stings —
some nights it's just quiet, and quiet drags its own strange things.
[Verse 3]
I deleted the app on a Sunday, not dramatic, just done,
traded the scroll for sidewalk, traded the moon for the sun.
Found an old mixtape, found my own handwriting, found my own name,
turns out there's a version of me that was never in his frame.
I'm not fixed, I'm just further, a few steps off that door,
learning the math of leaving is just learning to want more.
[Chorus]
I'm standing at my own front door, watching someone else walk in,
counting all the ways I lost before the losing could begin.
It's not him I'm missing, it's the mirror that keeps score —
I just want to stop comparing shadows at this door.
[Chorus]
I'm standing at my own front door, watching someone else walk in,
counting all the ways I lost before the losing could begin.
It's not him I'm missing, it's the mirror that keeps score —
I just want to stop comparing shadows at this door.