There are certain people who come into your life, and leave a mark. Their place in your heart is tender; a bruise of longing, a pulse of unfinished business. Just hearing their name pushes and pulls at you in a hundred ways, and when you try to define those hundred ways, describe them even to yourself, words are useless.
The worst kind of love is when you love
through the disgusting—
when you’re bad for each other
and you know it
and you keep on loving
and it tears you apart.
The worst is when you can’t get enough of it.
You’re running to their mouth
like you’re looking for a fix;
you promise yourself,
just one last time.
But the last time becomes the next time
and you wear their bruises
in a ring around your neck,
and tell yourself it’s poetic
to wear hickeys like a hanging.
You try to shake them from your bones,
but they’ve soaked into the marrow,
made sponges of your femurs.
Your legs give out at the knees
and you call it love.
They say the warning sign
is when you think you need one another.
They say that’s where it starts.
But you’ve never loved by halves
and you don’t know how to stop.
The worst is when you lose yourself loving
but you have always loved that way
and you don’t think there’s anything
you can do about it.
Love can be very brutal and full of rejection and give full disappointments. I think this album is not about loving someone, but about the effort love requires - whether it relates to a partner, your child - or yourself
It’s a letter to myself, about myself. I was doing so bad then… I was in a vicious circle, I only felt sadness and anger and frustration and permanent insatisfaction. I was just never happy, never. And if there doesn’t come an end to that, or if you don’t even want to realise there’s something seriously wrong… I had to do something to change my lifestyle, and that’s why I went to India. That’s where I wrote that song, it’s the starting point for the record, the oldest song that’s on it. Can you imagine anything worse than your best friend shouting “You are one of God’s mistakes, you crying, tragic waste of skin” at you? Well, I needed to tell myself that.
So when people leave, I’ve learned the secret: let them. Because, most of the time, they have to.
Let them walk away and go places. Let them have adventures in the wild without you. Let them travel the world and explore life beyond a horizon that you exist in. And know, deep down, that heroes aren’t qualified by their capacity to stay but by their decision to return.
Life will break you. Nobody can protect you from that, and living alone won’t either, for solitude will also break you with its yearning. You have to love. You have to feel. It is the reason you are here on earth. You are here to risk your heart. You are here to be swallowed up. And when it happens that you are broken, or betrayed, or left, or hurt, or death brushes near, let yourself sit by an apple tree and listen to the apples falling all around you in heaps, wasting their sweetness. Tell yourself you tasted as many as you could.