Verse 1 I built a city out of ifs and maybes, Painted your face on a wall of “could be.” Every glance I decoded like prophecy, But the script was mine—on repeat, on me. I heard a tone inside your silence, Gave your shadow a voice and a plan, Then I ran through the scenes like a witness To a movie shot by my own hands. Pre-Chorus And it felt so real, I swore it was true, Till the daylight cut straight through. No, you never said it— I just needed you to. Chorus Imaginary thoughts burst like soap bubbles, Pretty in the sun, gone the second they struggle. They crash against the hard wall of reality, And the shards spell out my responsibility. So I trust what I can hold, what I can feel, Not the stories that my mind makes real. I can’t blame you for the life I drew— That illusion was mine, it wasn’t you. Verse 2 I kept a fire burning that never existed, A virtual flame that was always cold. No heat on my skin, no fingers interlaced— Just an idea I refused to let go. I called it love, called it fate, called it timing, Called it “almost” like it meant “forever.” But “almost” is a ghost with good lighting, And I was chasing weather. Pre-Chorus I mistook my hunger for a sign, Turned a maybe into mine. No, you didn’t break it— I broke it in my mind. Chorus Imaginary thoughts burst like soap bubbles, Pretty in the sun, gone the second they struggle. They crash against the hard wall of reality, And the shards spell out my responsibility. So I trust what I can hold, what I can feel, Not the stories that my mind makes real. I can’t blame you for the life I drew— That illusion was mine, it wasn’t you. Bridge I’m done putting words in your mouth, Done making villains out of doubt. Done feeding a flame with air and hope— If it’s cold, let it go. If it’s real, it’ll stay when the lights go low, It’ll live in the touch, not the afterglow. Verse 3 (last verse / resolution) And maybe this is good—the bubble breaking, A clean cut truth, a quiet kind of grace. It brings me back to the floor, steady footing, Back to the things I can trust and trace. Gives my drifting, runaway mind a reset, Turns the volume down, lets my heartbeat speak. And leaves a nice dream as a soft memory— How it could’ve been, not what I need. Final Chorus (lift) Imaginary thoughts burst like soap bubbles, Beautiful once—still, they’re only troubles. They crash against the hard wall of reality, And the calm says, “Choose what’s actually.” So I trust what I can hold, what I can feel, Not the stories that my mind makes real. I won’t blame you for the life I drew— That illusion was mine… and now I’m through.