Quist vs Freddy vs Jason

I didn’t think a song could get to me. Not after everything. Not after a year and a half of feeling nothing but that dull, constant pressure — the sense that something was unfinished, but I couldn’t name it, couldn’t touch it, couldn’t look directly at it without feeling stupid. I thought I’d moved on. I told myself I had. I tried to live like I had. But the truth is, I needed time to myself because this project did emotional damage. Not the dramatic kind. Not the kind you can point to. Not the kind that leaves visible scars. It was quieter than that. Heavier than that. The kind of damage that sits in your chest and makes everything feel slightly off, even when you can’t explain why. And maybe that’s why I kept pretending I didn’t need closure. Because somewhere along the way, someone told me that wanting it made me narcissistic. Like needing clarity made me selfish. Like wanting to understand my own pain made me the problem. I carried that longer than I should have. Long enough...