Each night we weave our voices tight,
Across the miles, across the night.
Though distance lies from shore to shore,
It feels like I’m alone no more.

We talk of dreams that fill our skies,
Of fears that hide behind our eyes.
You tell me where your heart has been,
I listen close through crackling wind.

We’ve burned through cards, a hundred deep,
Just so your voice could guard my sleep.
The stars would fade, yet we’d still talk,
Our hearts in step, though we don’t walk.

I share my days in little lines,
Like folded notes between the signs.
And when your soul feels light or torn,
You call me—just like clockwork morn.

I didn’t see it, didn’t plan—
But somewhere, somehow, here I am:
A heart that's fallen, soft and true,
But still unsure—who am I to you?

Am I the one you turn to when
The world gets loud, then still again?
Or just a whisper in your air,
A voice that’s kind, but stops somewhere?

You fill my life in quiet ways,
Like sunlight spilled on cloudy days.
But still I ask beneath the blue—
For all I give, who am I to you?