Lyric

This song is a quiet testimony about betrayal, violation, and the loss of control over one's own narrative.
Its power does not come from graphic description, but from restraint-the way harm continues even after the act itself is over.

The story begins with something ordinary: trust.
Eye contact, affection, loneliness.
There is no recklessness dramatized here-only a moment where emotional vulnerability is mistaken for safety.
The betrayal is not sudden; it is invisible, unnoticed, already in motion before the narrator realizes what has been taken.

When the body becomes "a file," the song shifts from the personal to the systemic.
The narrator is no longer a person but data-unnamed, numbered, circulated.
The violence is multiplied not by one individual, but by countless anonymous viewers who believe recognition equals entitlement.

A central theme is how shame is transferred.
The song exposes how society quietly teaches victims that embarrassment belongs to them, not to the person who exploited them.
The line "at the moment I believed I was the one who should feel ashamed, it was already complete" reveals how exploitation succeeds not only through recording, but through internalized blame.

The bridge captures a particularly cruel aftermath:
no physical touch, yet the body feels contaminated.
No amount of water can erase what was taken-not because the body is dirty, but because the sense of ownership was violated.

Importantly, the song refuses false resolution.
There is no dramatic recovery, no clean healing arc.
Instead, the ending focuses on survival through disguise-
living with a normal face, saying nothing, continuing on while feeling frozen in time.

This is not a song about exposure alone.
It is about how silence becomes a survival strategy, and how asking for help can feel more dangerous than enduring pain alone.

The narrator does not claim to be healed.
She claims something quieter, and perhaps braver:

She is still alive.
Still here.
And not finished-
even if the world acted as if she was.