a𝓈𝓀 𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓈.

You leave her a voicemail and everyone hears it. A version of james K slides through the valueless material “real” with fists full of melancholic ecstasy. Song collapses the unending mist around us, in a world of intensity and pain, confusion and loss, like a lung filling playfully, that makes us more sensitive, opens more wounds, to lay a path for mutual mending. She plucks a coiling, gaseous halo from the air, steadying the tempest with lulling, heaven-kissed sounds, and comes as a balm to our desperate hearts with her timeless offering, 𝘍𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥- to make some light of this gum pink fog.