Sleeping With A Ghost

A restless, haunted vigil runs through this song: the narrator lies awake and can no longer remember what dreaming felt like, while two people circle each other like satellites, close but never speaking. The relationship is named plainly as "the wrong thing," and the admission that it drove the singer crazy sits next to the harder confession of not really knowing the other person anymore. The departure is concrete and quiet — a heard exit, footsteps on the staircase, a note left behind, history erased in an instant. What remains is the title image: sharing a bed with an absence, repeating the phrase until it becomes a kind of chant. The bridge turns toward the interior, addressing the one who left and naming "my darkest places" three times over, as if grief has an address and the departed used to live there. Wide-eyed and tongue-tied, the singer keeps circling the same loss. There is no resolution offered, no reunion promised — only the honesty of someone who cannot sleep because the person beside them is a memory. The song sits in that ache rather than rushing past it.