## I DON’T KNOW WHERE IT HURTS [Intro — close piano, breathy female voice] You said it softly, like it was nothing. Like pain was just another thing you learned to carry. And I said, “Don’t say that…” Like words could bring you back. [French operatic voice — very distant] *Reviens…* *Je ne sais pas où te chercher…* [Verse 1] You tell me you’re tired, you tell me you feel gone. Like some part of you stopped answering a long time ago. And what scares me most is how calm you sound, like the hurt became familiar, like you made room for it inside your life. I ask what happened, I ask where it started, but how do I find the door when I don’t even know the room you’re trapped in? [French opera — faint echo] *Je te cherche…* *là où mes mains ne vont pas…* [Pre-Chorus] So I say: “It’ll be okay…” “Stay with me…” “Don’t talk like that…” Then I hear myself talking and I know— I don’t know. I don’t know what lives inside your head. I don’t know how silence can hurt this loud. [Chorus] If I could reach where you disappear, I would. If I could take whatever hurts you, I would. But I’m standing here with both hands open, wanting to help and not knowing how. Tell me where it hurts, if the place has got no name. I want to understand, but I can’t live inside your pain. [French operatic voice — wider, behind lead] *Je voudrais comprendre…* *Je voudrais atteindre l’endroit où tu te perds…* *Mais je reste dehors…* [Verse 2] Sometimes you talk about your body, about pain running through your arms. And I don’t know anymore where the physical ends and where the things you don’t say begin. Then you tell me sometimes you hurt yourself, and my mind starts searching for a reason, because helplessness scares me more than answers ever could. I want to say: “Don’t do that.” Like you don’t already know. Like one sentence could make something simple that was never simple to begin with. [Beat drops almost completely] So what do I do when someone I care about is hurting somewhere I cannot follow? [Pre-Chorus] I wish there was a sentence. The right one. The one that breaks the wall. I wish you would say: “It’s over.” And I could believe you. But maybe there is no magic line. And that— that scares me. [Chorus] If I could reach where you disappear, I would. If I could take whatever hurts you, I would. But I’m standing here with both hands open, wanting to help and not knowing how. Tell me where it hurts, even if you don’t know. I can stay beside you, but I can’t feel it for you. [French opera — closer] *Dis-moi quoi faire…* *Non…* *Dis-moi comment rester…* [Bridge — almost spoken, instruments stripped back] I want to be angry. Maybe that would be easier. To ask you why. To tell you to stop. To make you promise. But I know a promise made to calm me won’t heal anything inside you. And there’s something I hate admitting— you hurt, and I get scared. And sometimes I feel guilty that my fear takes up space inside something that isn’t even happening to me. [Silence] If I cared enough, shouldn’t I know how to help? So when I can’t, I search for what I missed. A word. A silence. A sign I should have seen. Like your pain was a puzzle, and loving you enough should give me the answer. [French opera — strong emotional rise] *Je ne peux pas porter ta nuit…* *Mais je peux rester jusqu’au matin…* *Ne me dis pas que tout va bien…* *Pas avec cette voix-là…* *Je connais ton silence maintenant…* [Final Chorus — full strings, deep drums, opera layered behind] If I could reach where you disappear, I would. If I could hold the part of you you keep pushing away, I would. But maybe caring about you isn’t knowing how to fix this. Maybe it’s staying here without pretending I understand something I’ve never had to survive. I don’t know where it hurts. I don’t know how to stop it. But when you tell me some part of you is already gone, something in me still answers— No. You’re still here. [French operatic voice — soaring] *Tu es encore là…* *Encore là…* *Je ne sais pas te sauver…* *Je ne sais pas où ça fait mal…* *Mais je t’entends…* *Je t’entends…* *Je t’entends…* [Outro — piano only, breath] You’re still here. And for tonight… maybe that has to be enough.
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