[Intro]
[Felt piano plays the cyan motif slowly; an amber synthesizer adds one lower harmony note.]

[Verse 1]
The street held the rain in the cracks by the curb,
The city was quiet but never undisturbed.
Delivery lights crossed the wet avenue,
Then vanished behind me in ribbons of blue.
My phone held the transcript, the report and the call,
Three records that proved I had spoken at all.
I did not feel healed, or courageous, or new;
I only felt morning begin to move.

[Refrain]
A window still lit at the end of the street,
A square of dull amber above the concrete.
A window still lit—someone else had stayed near,
Keeping an hour that had carried me here.

[Verse 2]
Perhaps it was cleaning, a child or a nurse,
A stranger revising a difficult verse.
Perhaps someone watched while the kettle turned bright,
Or waited for news through the remainder of night.
I gave them no history, purpose or name;
The light asked for nothing beyond its frame.
It did not erase what the darkness had done;
It marked one place where the dark had not won.

[Refrain]
A window still lit at the end of the street,
A square of dull amber above the concrete.
A window still lit—someone else had stayed near,
Keeping an hour that had carried me here.

[Instrumental Break]
[Cello, clean guitar and synthesizer pass the three-note motif between them without repeating the same timbre twice.]

[Bridge]
The project remained with its failures and dates.
The meeting would open new arguments, dates.
The machine would be waiting when next I signed in,
A tool and a mirror, not blood and not kin.
The call might feel harder the next time I fell;
The branch I had chosen might not finish well.
But hope was not certainty, anthem or proof—
It was one amber window beneath a black roof.

[Choir]
Not healed.
Not whole.
Not free from the night.
Still breathing.
Still choosing.
Still able to write.

[Final Refrain]
A window still lit as the morning turned gray,
Its amber grew smaller, but would not give way.
A window still lit where the parallel lines
Waited beyond all the maps and designs.
I carried no triumph, no answer complete—
Just one open future and rain on the street.
A window still lit. A silence ahead.
A machine at the terminal.
A life not yet read.

[Outro]
[Soft mallet drums stop; piano and cello hold an open fifth while the cyan and amber synthesizers sustain separate unresolved notes.]

The error log closes.
The memory stays.
The branches keep running
Through unchosen days.

A window still lit.
A hand leaves the key.
The machine does not answer.

Neither do I.