THE PHYSICS OF FALLING APART (by Fanny Alexandra) [Verse 1] You held me like a secret in a house already burning, Smoke curling through the curtains while the planets kept on turning. We kissed like broken headlights in the middle of the road, Two bodies full of static with nowhere left to go. You said, “Love is just survival dressed up in pretty words,” While your shadow crossed the bedroom like a flock of dying birds. I watched the walls go water-stained from all the nights you cried, Funny how a flood can happen while you’re bone-dry inside. And I still hear the sirens when the sink won’t stop dripping, Still fold your ghost into the blankets without thinking. You left your name like cracked glass underneath my tongue— Now every time I speak, I taste blood and lithium. ⸻ [Pre-Chorus] Maybe gravity was never made for people like us. Maybe every “forever” was a countdown in disguise. Maybe hearts don’t break— Maybe they collapse slowly, all at once. ⸻ [Chorus] That’s the physics of falling apart— Nothing explodes at the start. It’s hairline fractures, tiny disasters, A quiet little death of the heart. It’s your toothbrush still beside mine, Your voice trapped in the drywall at night, It’s learning some ghosts have weight to them— God, they pull like the moon on the tide. And I swear I can feel you In the ache of every room, Like smoke after fireworks, Like a bruise that never blooms. That’s the physics— The terrible art— Of loving someone Past the point they break your heart. ⸻ [Verse 2] You wore sorrow like cathedral bells wear Sunday morning rain, Beautiful from far away, but unbearable up close again. I learned your body language like scripture on my knees, Every flinch, every silence, every “baby, don’t leave.” You kissed me in the kitchen while the ambulance lights flashed Through the window like heaven trying not to look back. And I remember thinking: this is how galaxies die— Not with fire, but slowly losing light. Now I sleep with the TV on so the silence doesn’t speak, Cause grief is just a knife that forgets to kill you clean. Everybody says, “Time heals,” but mine just learned to scar— Turns out surviving isn’t the same thing as being who you are. ⸻ [Pre-Chorus] Maybe we were just two comets wired to collide, Burning beautiful for seconds just to disappear from sight. Maybe love’s a law of motion— Once it starts, it never really stops. ⸻ [Chorus] That’s the physics of falling apart— Nothing explodes at the start. It’s missed calls glowing at 4 AM, Like flares in the dark. It’s your jacket over my chair, Perfume hanging thick in the air, It’s knowing someone touched your soul And still deciding not to stay there. And I swear I can feel you Every time the windows shake, Like thunder after lightning— Always arriving too late. That’s the physics, The cruelest part— Some things keep moving Even after they fall apart. ⸻ [Bridge] So tell me— Where does all the love go When the body carrying it disappears? Does it rot inside the wallpaper? Does it ache inside the years? Does it circle earth forever Like a satellite in mourning? Does it haunt another lover Every cold and blue-lit morning? Cause I still reach across the bed Like muscle memory can pray, Still leave one side untouched Like you might come home someday. And isn’t that the saddest thing? Not that you left— But that a part of me still waits. ⸻ [Final Chorus] That’s the physics of falling apart— The slow surrender of the heart. No big finale, No clean break, Just little earthquakes in the dark. It’s watching your own hands shake While holding photographs like proof, It’s realizing love can leave And still live inside of you. And I swear— Every beautiful thing I touch Still turns a little blue, Like the universe itself remembers What it lost in you. That’s the physics. That’s the cost. You don’t hear the moment A soul gets lost. You just wake up one day Carrying someone Who’s been gone for far too long.
