Love Don’t Care (Strangers)

After midnight, when the street is quiet but the phone won’t stop lighting up, a certain kind of loneliness starts to feel like a plan. Not a big one. Just the next message, the next ride, the next door that opens too easily. At the heart of the song is one hard truth: love doesn’t always behave. It doesn’t wait until someone is ready. It doesn’t stop just because it’s hurting people. The line “love don’t care my love you’re everywhere” keeps coming back like something said to make it feel okay, until it starts to sound like the real problem. Love is everywhere, and there’s no place to hide from it. The story follows a pattern of falling into strangers, not out of thrill, but out of needing to be wanted for a moment. It turns into a habit that’s easy to explain away in the dark and harder to face in the morning. Names blur. Promises don’t last. The quick comfort becomes the only goal, even when it costs something real. Underneath it all is the feeling of watching someone slip away while still being close enough to reach. The worry isn’t dramatic, it’s steady, heavy, and helpless. It’s the sound of knowing you can’t keep someone safe if they keep walking back into the same kind of night. By the end, nothing is tied up neatly. The same thoughts loop like a mind that won’t let go: what was meant, what was used up, what keeps pulling them back, and why the thing that hurts can still feel like home. The song sits in that space where love is everywhere, and that’s exactly why it can ruin everything.