La Toile

Lyrics

Just the sound of your breathing.Across the room.Slow. Even.I start with the lines I can see.The faint scar above your left eyebrow.From the bicycle crash in nineteen ninety-seven.The way your right thumb traces the edge of a book spine.Your coffee, black. No sugar since that spring in Lisbon.I gather these threads, the easy ones.The weight of your hand on my shoulder.The specific blue of the sweater you wear when the seasons turn.These are the anchor points.The first pins in the canvas.And in the quiet of my mind, I begin to weave.La toile. The web.A theory of you.I trace the connections, the hidden grammar of your heart.And for a moment, the distance between us dissolves.I see the world through two sets of eyes.Then, the deeper colors.The story of your grandfather's watch, the one that stopped the day he died.Why you always turn the radio down when a certain Jacques Brel song comes on.The echo of your mother's voice in your laughter, but only when you're truly surprised.The sudden silence that fell in the car on the road to Amiens.I remember the look.I file it away.Another filament, shimmering and thin, but strong.Woven into the pattern.And in the quiet of my mind, I continue to weave.La toile. The canvas.A portrait of you.I trace the connections, the hidden grammar of your heart.And for a moment, the distance between us dissolves.I see the world through two sets of eyes.Tonight, you looked at the rain on the window.And I felt the ghost of a memory that wasn't mine.A childhood room. A storm outside. A feeling of safety.I didn't need you to speak.The model held. The web vibrated with a truth.But what if I'm wrong?What if this whole architecture is just a beautiful echo of myself?A portrait of the you I need you to be?So I watch.And I listen.And I add another thread to the loom.Another touch of pigment to the canvas.It is never finished.This map of you.