How I Know

[ Lyrics ]

He says yes. He means it.

He says yes… and he means it.

Last time, I’d rewrite my whole day
just to match the shade of his mood.
Now I work late, half-asleep at the station,
and he texts: *‘Got your chamomile, babe — no cinnamon.’*
Funny how a small thing cracks the silence,
like proof I’m not just a pause in his story.
He asks how the session went, remembers the verse I scrapped,
sits through the silence like it’s not a war.

No drama, no games, no edge in his tone.
Just presence — steady as a heartbeat, not a throne.
Used to think love was lightning, loud and unkind,
but now I know… it’s the calm every time.

How I know? He shows up. He stays.
How I know? He laughs at my gray days.
How I know? He means it when he says he’s here.
Not half in, not maybe — just near.

Old love would ghost when the talk got real,
call it ‘space’ when it felt like a jail.
This one sends voice notes at 2 a.m.,
sings off-key just to make me smile again.
He saw my mom’s ring — didn’t flinch, just said,
‘She had good taste. You got that from her, though.’
No performance, no mask, no hidden cost —
love ain’t a trophy I’m meant to be tossed.

No tests, no traps, no code I can’t read.
Just warmth in the way that he says my first name.
Used to chase the spark, now I want the flame —
the kind that stays lit, just the same.

How I know? He shows up. He stays.
How I know? He laughs at my gray days.
How I know? He means it when he says he’s here.
Not half in, not maybe — just near.

I used to think love was something you earned,
a prize for being quiet, easy, turned.
But he treats it like air, like something I’m due —
not a gift you withhold, but the sky when it’s blue.

How I know? He shows up. He stays.
How I know? He’s calm through the haze.
How I know? He means it when he says he’s near.
Not a crumb — my whole meal, right here.

How I know…

He says yes… and he means it.

Yeah… I know.