This time it's here to stay

Stuart:
I get that leaving feeling
This time it's here to stay
I've been weighing up the pulling
And pushing me away
The past is so heavy
But it's something that I can't leave
And this future's so certain
It just pushes me to my knees

Lhasa:
Is that your heart talking
Or just that befuddled mind?
The people that you love
They change when you leave them behind

Stuart:
But this rope that is pulling
Is whittled down to a thread
And if I don't start climbing
Pretty soon it'll be over my head

Lhasa:
We all have dreams of leaving
We all wanna make a new start
Go and pack a little suitcase
With the pieces of our hearts
All those worries and those sorrows
We can just dust them away
Buy a coffee and a paper
And go step on to a train

(Bridge)

Stuart:
But I've been too long wandering
Limping around this town
With everything that's pulling me
It's pulling me further down

Lhasa:
Go make all your excuses
Go say all your goodbyes
But take a look in the mirror
It's the hardest one you'll ever find
All those worries and those sorrows
You can just dust them away
Go and find a new tomorrow
And forget about your yesterdays
So you and pat your kids
And kiss your dog goodbye
Leave the keys on the nail
With the sadness that's in your eyes

Stuart:
Maybe tomorrow
Today looks like it's bringing rain
And I'll leave everything in order
I don't want nothing standing in my way
There are jobs needing tending
And logs that are waiting to stack
And I'll leave everything in order
I don't want nothing that's gonna hold me back

That leaving feeling (libreta de quejas)

Leo las cartas que Van Gogh le escribió a Théo y pienso que, quizás, en el fondo, todos tenemos penas parecidas… Yo también he estado a la deriva y sé con certeza lo que es sentirse como un extranjero. Antes lo único que quería era desaparecer, perderme en la multitud. Quizá porque sabía que no estaba sola, encontraba peligrosamente atractivo permanecer en el enigma de lo anónimo sin tener que rendir cuentas a nadie, sin tener que complacer a nadie, sin verme obligada a no ofender (en realidad nunca dejé de imponerme esas cargas). Pero uno no es un personaje ficticio que el autor describe desde su cómodo distanciamiento y desaparecer siempre tiene un precio. Ese gusanillo que todos sentimos moverse en nuestro pecho comienza a aparecer con una asiduidad alarmante. Unas garras atenazan con violencia y no parecen dispuestas a dejarme ir hasta destruirme. El gusanillo se mueve lentamente, pesadamente. Parece desafiarme a hacer algo más doloroso para dejar de sentirlo… Apagar cigarrillos en mi brazo, clavar agujas bajo mis uñas… Todo sería menos terrible que el gusano que tengo en mi pecho.