Not one song,
    but a hundred…
        a thousand.

Not just love songs—
    though some feel
    as warm and familiar

    as my own heartbeat.

But the ones that built us,
    the ones that burned,
    the ones that healed.

    Melodies that moved us,
    and made us more alive.

From smoky 50s ballads
   to neon-lit anthems.

From soft whispers of vinyl
     to the sharp crackle
     of something new.

You send a song,
  I send one back.
  A rhythm,
  a ritual,

  a way to say:

  "This moved me—let it move you too."

And when it’s your turn,
    I stop everything.

Find a quiet space,
     put on the lyrics track,
     let every note sink in.

Even if I’ve heard it a thousand times.

Even if I know every note, every breath—
                     it’s different now,

                     because it’s from you.

Last night,
     one of your songs sent…
                            memories.

Rushing in like a flood—
    but not the kind
    that drowns.

    This flood was fast,
                   furious,
                   fantastic.

The kind that stirred something deeper,
         that left me restless,

         heat rising under my skin.

Funny how a melody can do that.

So maybe,
   we’ll spend forever
   passing melodies back and forth,
   finding a hundred almosts…

   but never settling on just one.

Maybe "Our Song"
    is never meant
    to be one at all—

    but all of them,
        woven together,
              playing on repeat.