The Second-Best Opinion (Platonic Love)

Lyrics

The dial tone. The silence after the click.
My own voice in my head, a tangled thread.
That's the first opinion.
Always the first.

It’s not that I don’t trust myself.
It’s that the first draft is always… a little loud.
Full of panic and bad grammar.
A room full of smoke before the window is opened.
I pace the floorboards, I talk to the cat.
I let the storm have its say.
And then, only then, I pick up the phone.

Because you’re the second-best opinion I have.
The one I ask for after I’ve asked myself.
You’re the clear, cold water after the fever.
You’re not the answer, you’re the light that shows the shape of the question.
And that’s the highest praise I know how to give.
My second-best opinion. My truest north.

Remember November, at that cafe, "The Daily Grind"?
My chipped blue mug. Your steady hands around the white one.
I’d laid out the whole disaster with the marketing pitch.
Every dead end, every angry email from Dave.
And you just listened.
You didn't solve it.
You just said, "What if the problem isn't the pitch, but the product?"
And the whole room shifted. The smoke cleared.

Because you’re the second-best opinion I have.
The one I ask for after I’ve asked myself.
You’re the clear, cold water after the fever.
You’re not the answer, you’re the light that shows the shape of the question.
And that’s the highest praise I know how to give.
My second-best opinion. My truest north.

They write about love as a ladder.
Climbing out of the body, towards some perfect form.
I never understood that.
But with you, I see the form of the thing.
The beautiful bones of the argument.
The logic, the grace, the soul of it.
It’s not about flesh. It’s about… seeing.
And I love the way you see.

So I’ll keep my first opinion.
It’s mine. It's messy.
But I’ll always, always save the last question for you.
My second-best.
Yeah.