there is a road that folds into the dusk,
a ribbon of gravel, an old porch and musk
of rain on warm pavement, coffee on your breath,
a photograph on the dash — autumn leaves, your laugh.
not always straight, the turns catch me off guard,
mile markers like memory, some soft, some scarred.
i carry pockets full of moments that glow,
they keep the engine turning when the world says slow.
we stumble through the nights that feel too long,
but a single small light steers us back where we belong.
a scent, a voice, the creak of that swing —
those tiny constellations that make my heartbeat sing.
when the road calls me home, i follow the soft light,
lanterns on the shoulders of my quiet night.
i hold your footprints close beneath my skin,
when the road calls me home, i go back again.
we don't say goodbye — just 'til we meet again,
guardians in the headlights, guiding me like friends.
through every tear and every laugh we own,
when the road calls me home, i follow it home.
losing you felt like brakes that froze in time,
like the map unraveled and the lines refused to rhyme.
i found your sweater on a chair, the pocket worn thin,
your lipstick on a glass — a soft, familiar sin.
days stalled in heavy gray, streets that wouldn't move,
then a kettle's whistle and the memory of your groove.
the path bends back with echoes stitched in light,
small lanterns lit by laughter cut the dark of night.
broken roads don't mean the journey's through,
they mean we learn the turns, the ways to start anew.
a smell of pine, a joke you always told,
are compass points that warm me when the air turns cold.
when the road calls me home, i follow the soft light,
lanterns on the shoulders of my quiet night.
i hold your footprints close beneath my skin,
when the road calls me home, i go back again.
we don't say goodbye — just 'til we meet again,
guardians in the headlights, guiding me like friends.
through every tear and every laugh we own,
when the road calls me home, i follow it home.
remember the lake where we parked at midnight,
your hand on the wheel, the moon—a paper knife.
you taught me how to find the constellations in a cup,
said, "if you ever lose the way, look for our light up above."
so i'll leave a lantern on the windowsill each dawn,
trace the footsteps on the gravel where we once walked on.
i promise i will carry your map inside my chest,
till that soft light gathers both our hearts to rest.
when the road calls me home, i follow the soft light,
this time i'll sing your name into the night.
i hold your footprints close beneath my skin,
when the road calls me home, i find you again.
we don't say goodbye — just 'til the next hello,
your laugh a mile marker wherever i go.
through every season, every turn and stone,
when the road calls me home, i follow it home.
keep me in your pockets like a coin, like a prayer,
i'll keep you in my headlights, in the chill
