
You walked in for eggs and paper towels. That’s it.
You didn’t expect to find him in aisle three—again.
His coffee, his cereal, his brand of butter.
You stand there, frozen, pretending to read ingredients while your heart burns holes through the plastic packaging.
This blues isn’t about the breakup. It’s not about the fight.
It’s about the ordinary moments that ambush you.
It’s about crying in public places that never asked for your pain.
It’s about holding it together just long enough to make it past checkout.
This 1950s-style emotional blues track was made for the quiet mourners, the ones who keep it all together until the barcodes start to blur.
You don’t need to scream to feel broken.
Sometimes, the loudest ache is the one that shows up between the frozen peas and the orange juice.
This one’s for:
• Anyone who’s ever cried alone in aisle three
• People who memorize shelves just to avoid the ones with memories
• Hearts that heal slower than receipts fade
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