ダーリン

Here, we hear the weariness of endless comparisons, of the fact that deep down, everyone belongs to someone else and yet is terribly lonely. The words float like on water: sometimes a request, sometimes a confession, sometimes a whisper of “don't leave.” Love is shown not as a sweet picture, but as an attempt to stay afloat when the “days” are too deep and the nights are too empty.

And amid all this fragility, there is a bright note. In this music, there is a stubborn desire to be oneself, not to turn into “the other,” not to try on someone else's masks. It is like an embrace in the dark: awkward, sincere, with an unanswered question: “Can I just be myself, not someone else?”