You know that feeling when one day, you're minding your own business, and suddenly you're hit with a memory. A memory so vivid, yet fleeting. But a memory uncalled for, nonetheless. A flicker that rouses unresolved issues you thought you had left behind. That feeling is what Hang is built on. It's this idea that remembering a seemingly minor detail, like an ex-lover's scent, is more than enough to open old wounds. To lift resentment to the surface. To draw past heartache to the presеnt. But what do we do in response to thе hurt? We can seal it to appear undamaged. To look nonplussed. 'Cause God knows we'd rather die than be seen as fragile and weak. Or desperate and vulnerable. We dress our naked desires with language, masking them with ambiguity. Hang out instead of fuck. And fuck instead of love. Huh. Love. Anything but those four letters. Anything but letting our walls down, risking pain once more. I didn't know these themes were at work while I was writing the song. All I thought was play it cool. Drop hints that you want someone back, but don't go overboard. 'Cause if you do, you'll scare them away. Play it cool even as your longing is bursting at the seams. Play it cool despite your soul-hallowing loneliness. Lie. Pretend. Make jokes. We do all this hiding. Playing all these games. Blurring the truth about ourselves and one another in pursuit of something real.