Brass Key

[Verse 1]
I keep a brass key in the sugar bowl,
though it fits no door we own.
You laugh when I fish it out for tea;
I love that laugh. I hate being known.
At lunch I buy the cake with the split seam,
then scrape the icing clean with a fork.
For ten sweet minutes, I’m somebody
who doesn’t have to explain the wanting.

[Pre-Chorus]
I know the trick; I know the receipt.
Still, the little bell rings in my chest.

[Chorus]
I love this room, the mug with the chipped blue lip,
your socks drying crooked by the vent.
And I keep trying keys in the life I didn’t pick,
just to hear a different lock give in.
If I leave, I lose the hand that reaches for mine;
if I stay, I wonder what I’ve left unopened.
I’m grateful, I’m restless—both can be true,
and neither one tells me what to do.

[Verse 2]
A coat on credit, a train ticket north,
a stranger’s grin held warm in my phone.
I spend, I flirt, I taste the new place—
then bring you back a pastry for home.
It’s not that you’re lacking. It’s worse, maybe:
you’re kind, and I’m bored, and I’m ashamed.
I can be generous with one hand
while the other keeps a key unclaimed.

[Bridge]
Maybe the brass is from some old drawer;
maybe I like its weight more than its use.
I hold it while you tell me about your day.
I’m here. I’m elsewhere. I’m listening, too.

[Chorus]
I love this room, the mug with the chipped blue lip,
your socks drying crooked by the vent.
And I keep trying keys in the life I didn’t pick,
just to hear a different lock give in.
If I leave, I lose the hand that reaches for mine;
if I stay, I wonder what I’ve left unopened.
I’m grateful, I’m restless—both can be true,
and neither one tells me what to do.