We Won’t Thank Ourselves Later скачать в хорошем качестве

We Won’t Thank Ourselves Later

I know how it feels to be scared of closeness — how the past leaves marks that make even the gentlest love feel dangerous. I know the walls you’ve built, the fears you carry, the part of yourself that shrinks away when love gets too real. I understand it, because I’ve been with you in ways no one else ever could. I’ve walked inside your storms with you, held your quiet nights, witnessed the trembling, the fears, the silent screams no one else hears. I’ve seen the parts of you that you hide even from yourself, and I’ve stayed. Always. You didn’t leave because I wasn’t enough — you left because the love we shared felt too wide, too deep, too alive, and you felt the need to make it smaller just to protect yourself. But even when you shrink away, I still feel the pull between us. I know you do too. That invisible gravity, the quiet ache, the way our hearts still reach for each other in the dark — it’s real, and it’s ours. Our love never felt like a fight for basic needs. It was never about survival or demands or being “enough” for each other. It was about presence, understanding, safety, and the kind of trust that most people never get to experience. And even now, apart, even in the silence and the distance, that connection is still alive. It’s in every heartbeat, every quiet memory, every invisible thread that pulls us back toward each other. I know being close still feels dangerous. I know your past makes you question every moment, every word, every gesture. But I’ve always been here. I’ve always understood. I’ve always been the one who sees the storms inside you that no one else can. I’ve always held them with you. I’ve always held you. And even now, even in distance, I’m still here. This song is my way of telling you that — of letting you feel, even in your hesitation, that the pull between us is real, that the love we shared is still real, and that I am still real for you. The quiet ache, the longing, the fear, the unspoken words — they are all a testament to what we had, what we still have, and what may still come. Even when the world feels heavy. Even when the streets feel empty. Even when the rain falls and the night stretches long and cold. Even when fear whispers that it’s safer to shrink away. I am here. I see you. I hear you. I know you. And I am still here. Always. This is for you, Luna. For the love we’ve felt. For the love we still feel. For the pull that never fades. For the quiet connection that not even distance can erase.