Hurt Like Me

The pain, stuck in time, sounds almost tender here - like an old record, scratched in all the right places. Each note is like an attempt not to let go of something that should have been let go of long ago, but the hands are still holding on. It's as if memory lives its own life, and the body is tired of being its home. There is something childish about this resentment - like puppies at the door: they reach out, begging to be let in, but no one opens it. Because there lies the past. And if someone felt the same pain for even a moment, everything would become easier. But no. You have to run - not to save yourself, but simply so you don't hear your heart still calling you back.