Because I thought I could save us both with belief and momentum.Turns out I was just the engine.He never planned to stay in the car.
“Strange Weather”—Marianne Faithfull
This plays in the version of the confrontation where I don’t speak.Where I just look at him, once.And he hears the wind shift.
“Wuthering Heights”—Kate Bush
I want him to ache like I did, and because sometimes I still want to show up looking like a curse in lipstick and silk and whisper, “I never left.You fucking did.”
You broke us, asshole.
So there,six tracks.No forgiveness.No permission.No edits.
Just the playlist I hum while I decide whether or not to look at him when I walk in.
Now go ahead and critique me as if it doesn’t undo a little of you.However, don’t you dare come for Tori Amos.
I see you forming the sentence.I hear the eye roll from here.
Let me be very clear:
“Little Earthquakes” isn’t just a song.It’s a post-modern soliloquy.It’s what it feels like when someone doesn’t break your heart—they uproot it before stomping on it again and again.
It’s blood and piano keys, and that moment you laugh too hard just so you won’t cry in front of him.
You don’t put on Tori to feel better; you put her on because she already knows.She’s been inside the part of you that flinches when someone asks if you’re okay, and instead of fixing it, she writes a sonata around it and dares you to sing along.
So, if you’re about to say something like “She’s a bit much,” go ahead.I’ll just assume you’ve never actually been gutted properly.
Now, go ahead and say something snarky about Kate Bush too, and just get it over with.I’ll be over here, holding my emotional restraint together with eyeliner and sarcasm.No lipstick tonight.
DeadStrings:Kate Bush, huh?
You just had to go full gothic banshee with a wind machine.Of course you did.
You seem to turn your pain into a spectacle—red lips, haunted piano, whispering something about ghosts and metaphors no one else can quite understand.
“Wuthering Heights” ...It’s so you.
You know, I used to make fun of “Running Up That Hill.”I said it was overdramatic.Said it was weird.Said I didn’t get it.If I could, I would borrow that song and change the arrangements.More piano, slow it down—make it hurt.It’d be epic.
The point is that I understand the lyrics now too well.
Because when you’re in love with someone who doesn’t love you the same way—who can’t, or won’t, or maybe just won’t admit it—that song feels like truth turned to static.
Can you really make a deal with God?It’s bold to ask a superior being to swap places.
You know what?I’d do it.Not sure if I want the haunting music as the background, but I would fucking do it.
After all this time, I’d still trade everything—my name, my history, the music, even this bitter little grudge I carry around like it’s the thing that makes my heart beat.I would do it just to feel what she felt.Just once.
Not because I want her back, but because I need to understand why she couldn’t listen to me.Sure, I fucked up, but ...there’s an entire explanation that led to that moment.I want to know why she couldn’t listen.Why couldn’t we even say goodbye?
When I hear that song playing, I usually flinch.Not at the song, but at the deal I’d still take.
StringTheory27:I don’t even know what to say to that.Except maybe ...yeah.
That’s it.
