Alerg spre din…
It’s not a title.
It’s a direction.
For me, running was never just about getting somewhere.
It was also about getting closer.
Closer to things I thought distance would erase.
To versions of myself I buried under miles, under projects, under busy days, under jokes, and silences.
“Din” is not a place.
“Din” is a time.
It’s the space between who you were and who you think you are now.
It’s where unspoken things live — the fears you’ve stopped naming, the burdens that no longer hurt but never fully disappear.
You carry them like a shadow that no longer scares you, but never leaves you either.
This song didn’t come on an ordinary day.
It came at a moment when I felt an ending approaching.
The end of a phase where things didn’t unfold one by one — they built up, slowly, until they became part of me.
It’s not the end of a story, but the closing of a chapter that held me for almost two decades.
An old weight, born from a decision made by a different version of me, in another life — a decision that followed me like a steady echo.
Not always loud. But always present.
Like a shadow that never leaves.
Years went by — I moved forward, I built, I laughed, I ran.
But I did all of it with something tied to me — invisible to others, very real to me.
A pressure that weighed on me, sometimes crushed me, and made me stand up more times than I wanted.
When I felt that the moment was near — the one where the weight would finally loosen — I didn’t feel an explosion.
I felt quiet.
Like air entering a room that’s been closed for too long.
And in that quiet, everything connected.
Alerg spre din… is about the moment when you no longer want to leave the past behind.
It’s about bringing it close.
Looking at it.
Giving it a place.
Not to defeat it.
But to acknowledge it.
“Din” means source.
The place everything flows from.
The joys — and the things that broke me.
The victories — and the decisions that cost me.
They all rise from the same point.
And no matter how far I go, that point stays — like a North that never shifts.
This song isn’t meant to motivate.
It’s not an anthem for being stronger, faster, better.
It’s acceptance.
It’s how I say I don’t run to become someone else.
I run to stay connected to who I was.
To the one who made mistakes.
To the one who paid for them.
To the one who, even under a long and silent weight, found the strength to rise and keep going.
Alerg spre din… is a promise I make to myself.
That I won’t avoid.
That I won’t sweeten it.
That I won’t erase.
That when the silence comes, and no one’s around, I can sit with all of me.
With all I’ve been.
With everything that weighed me down — and everything that held me up.
And maybe, to someone listening, this song will be just a voice, a guitar, a feeling.
But to me, it’s the mark of a threshold.
A place in time where I stood, looked back at what had chased me for years — and chose to stop running.
I chose to move forward — not lighter, not victorious — but whole.
This is not running from.
This is Alerg spre din…