[Verse 1]
Eleven forty-seven, kitchen light still humming,
phone face-up on the counter, green dot says she's coming.
I sent "you up?" at midnight, watched the three dots climb,
then nothing but a desert where an answer should've signed.
Scrolled up through her grid, she's laughing at a diner,
posted ninety seconds after my message passed right by her.
She double-tapped a stranger's cat before she tapped reply,
her read receipts stay honest even when her words deny.
Same thumb, same glass screen, different kind of attention,
I'm a tab she keeps open but forgets to mention.
Last seen: two minutes ago. Last spoke: somewhere in June.
I know the shape of her Tuesday better than her voice in the room.
[Chorus]
You're glowing on my screen but you're nowhere in the room,
a porch light left on for a house that moved.
I keep checking the window, keep reading the glow,
can't tell if you're close now or just last seen an hour ago.
[Verse 2]
So I shut the big feed, the one built for strangers,
started a small room, a lock, just the people I favor.
No crowd watching, no highlight reel on a timer,
just three names I picked, nobody scrolling behind her.
I set the clock for ten, let the kettle get loud,
when it rang it said her name first, then read what she'd typed out.
Not an algorithm guessing who matters from a photo,
just one voice in order, no feed, no echo.
The room don't care how many followers claimed to adore you,
just who shows up, in order, and waits their turn before you.
Invited my brother back in, the one gone quiet for a season,
his words came through after mine — small room, real reason.
[Bridge]
Some nights the small room's empty, nobody rings the bell,
she still posts from the party and I still can't always tell
if silence means she's busy or it means I'm who she's muting —
the glow won't tell you presence, it just shows you who's choosing.
[Verse 3]
Turned the phone face-down at dinner, let the static disappear,
counted all the empty seconds till a real voice I could hear.
No ping arrived to save us, no update, no new post,
just steam between two coffee cups and the thing I feared the most —
silence with a person, not a silence from a screen,
learning what their face does when there's nothing in between.
Took her hand across the table, not a message, just a hand,
and the glow I used to chase for dimmed to something I could stand.
Some signals don't need sending, some truths don't need a light,
just two chairs pulled in closer on an ordinary night.
[Chorus]
You're glowing on my screen but you're nowhere in the room,
a porch light left on for a house that moved.
I keep checking the window, keep reading the glow,
can't tell if you're close now or just last seen an hour ago.
[Chorus]
You're glowing on my screen but you're nowhere in the room,
a porch light left on for a house that moved.
I keep checking the window, keep reading the glow,
can't tell if you're close now or just last seen an hour ago.