The private theatre of it is exhausting: the drafted and deleted messages, the significance read into a single glance, the entire inner life built around someone who would struggle to recall your name. It is devotion running on empty and stubbornly refusing to stop.
What makes it so durable is that nothing ever quite happens to end it. There is no rejection clean enough to close the file, so the hope keeps regenerating on scraps, and the ache slowly becomes a strange kind of company you would almost miss.
The music broods and swells around that suspension, holding a tension it never resolves. Longing melodies circle back without arriving, warm enough to keep you inside the feeling and restless enough that it never settles.
It sits early in Love Streams, one step past pure solitude, where the ache has finally found an object even if the object never looks back. Play it when you want the feeling honoured rather than fixed.