The story behind this song
The coffee maker's still set for two, and her cup gets poured before his every morning — thirty years and the hands don't unlearn. The radio stays on her station, the one he can't bring himself to change. Out back, the tomatoes she planted last fall come up without asking permission, stubborn just like she was. Her half of the bed is still spoken for.
At first the second plate was only muscle memory. Now he lays it down on purpose, every fork a way of saying she was here, she's still here.
For the husband who figures the day he sets one plate is the day he quits telling her the truth — and he isn't planning on it.
Lyrics
Thirty years
Hands don't unlearn
Stood there while it went cold by the window where you'd sit
The radio's still on your station — I can't bring myself to turn it
Some woman sang your favorite, and I had to leave the room
Darlin', it was never just a habit
Still reaching for your hand at the scary parts of movies
Thirty years of loving you don't stop on a Tuesday
So I set two plates, darlin'
And I tell you how my day went
Tomatoes you put in last fall, stubborn just like you
Your perfume's nearly gone now from the scarf on the bedpost
I sleep on my half. Your half's still spoken for.
Darlin', it was never just a habit
Still reaching for your hand at the scary parts of movies
Thirty years of loving you don't stop on a Tuesday
So I set two plates, darlin'
And I tell you how my day went
Now I lay it down on purpose
Every fork is me saying: you were here. You're still here.
The day I set one plate —
That's the day I quit telling you the truth
Still reaching for your hand at the scary parts of movies
Thirty years of loving you don't stop on a Tuesday
So I set two plates, darlin'
And I tell you how my day went
Same time tomorrow
Both plates
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