I was a broken string, a midnight park bench,
till your laugh flicked on like a streetlamp.
Now the skyline leans a little bit closer,
every star tuned to the key of your name.
We’re just two cans tied with coffee-shop twine,
but I hear silver ringing where the static used to whine.
Tomorrow’s still cracked, yet the edges feel rounder—
‘cause you held the night still till the morning got louder.