Copyright © 2026 https://suno.com/@mich_bergde Mike Berg All rights reserved. The city rests in yellow light, the room is silent, yet time moves slow tonight. The day clings to me like dust on old wood, too tired to think, not in a sleepy mood. A lonely dress, an empty space, everything here still knows your trace. I lie awake, nothing pulls me away— and somehow you are near, without a word to say. And somewhere many miles from here, maybe you’re doing the same tonight: saying nothing, doing nothing, just breathing easy for a while. And for a moment I wonder if maybe that is enough. You’re not here, but I don't miss you, you're near, because some part of you still stays with me. Between my breathing and morning light, something keeps carrying us through the night. No words, no promises, no sign from you — just this calm feeling: I belong with you. I know the roads you’re walking now, the places where you slow somehow. I know your silence, know your eyes, and how your warmth cuts through the ice. Sometimes I swear I hear you laugh, soft and distant through the dark. Maybe memory, maybe my mind — but it feels gentle every single time. No signal, no glowing screen, no sound, and still I never lose you, you are all around. It’s not magic — maybe just love grown quiet enough to survive the distance. You’re not here, but I don't miss you, you're near, because some part of you still stays with me. Between my breathing and morning light, something keeps carrying us through the night. No words, no promises, no sign from you — just this calm feeling: I belong with you. When everything grows softer than fear, and even doubt falls asleep out here, I hold onto this little space that needs no name to know its place. Not possession, not “please don’t leave,” just something peaceful underneath. If you go, you never go far — you stay inside my thoughts, as my safe place in the dark. You’re not here, but I don't miss you, you're near, because closeness is larger than time. Between tonight and the morning light, I know nothing can truly divide us. And somewhere far away you wake beneath the same sky — and somehow, that is enough. The morning comes soft as a promise. And the world begins again.
