Kita

At first, it seems like just a love ballad: whispers, a vow, a couple of lines about eternity. And then suddenly a strange sadness creeps in, as if something sticky, shameful, unresolved is hiding between the words. This kind of love, where instead of lightness, there are chains, instead of flight, circles around a single orbit. The soft melody lulls me to sleep, but the question keeps buzzing inside: can you be "seirama" when it's not joy that binds you, but guilt? And yet it sounds beautiful - as if the rain decided to sing about the sun that is no longer there, but the memory of its warmth still lingers.