Made Up, Like a Song

Verse 1 Some days the world feels like it’s written, Like someone else arranged the scenes, And I’m just walking through the dialogue, Wearing someone else’s jeans. I find a note in my own handwriting, But I don’t remember what it means— Just a line about the ocean, And the silence in between. Chorus It feels made up, like a song— The way the colors fall, the way we move along. Every moment’s half-pretending, But it still feels like belonging. Maybe I’m just learning how to live In a story I’ve been told— But made up doesn’t mean it’s wrong, Just means it’s something I can hold. Verse 2 I hear a melody in footsteps When the train pulls down the track, And I swear I’ve lived this morning But from someone else’s back. Truth is more a question lately, Than a flag I want to raise— But I still show up with my pencil To the edge of every page. Chorus It feels made up, like a song— With the verses barely holding, but the pull is strong. I’m not looking for a chorus That makes everything make sense— I just want a line to hum When I don’t know where I went. Bridge And maybe that’s what meaning is— A tune you half recall, That still knows how to find you When you don’t know you at all. And maybe what is real Is what we choose to sing— Even if the notes Aren’t tied to anything. Final Chorus It feels made up, like a song— But I’ve lived inside the rhythm all along. Every lie and every wonder Still belong. And if none of this was written, Or if all of it was drawn— I’ll still follow every phrase Until it’s gone.