You're somewhere out there in your quiet routine
I'm folded inside a book you've never seen
Pages I keep in a drawer by my bed
Full of words I should've said

I never meant to be silent this long
But ink doesn't bleed like a voice when it's gone

You live in my lines, in the curve of a name
I write you in rain when I can't take the blame
The truth is a weight I carry at night
A heart made of paper, trying to write
What I couldn't start
You're still in my inkheart

We almost met on that Tuesday last year
You turned the corner, I froze up in fear
I watched you walk past like a scene from a play
And the ending still haunts me today

There's a thousand small moments I hid in a shelf
Where I saw you too clearly and lost myself

You live in my lines, in the pause of a song
In dreams where I ask what I did wrong
The truth doesn't fade, no matter how far
A heart made of paper still shows every scar
Even torn apart
You're still in my inkheart

And maybe one day you'll find what I wrote
The letters I folded, the stories I choked
And maybe you'll know it was always for you
Even silence can speak if it wants to

You live in my lines, in the shape of the pain
A whisper I trace in the windowpane
The truth, like a stain, won't come out in the dark
It's etched in the pages, and stitched through the spark
That never departs
You're still in my inkheart