Description
Sometimes it sounds like a sigh between dreams. The words are like a confession whispered through the evening mist, with no expectation of a response. Everything seems flooded - not with water, but with feelings: either longing, relief, or a memory that refuses to fade away. The music slowly grows, as if someone is letting go of something they have been holding onto for a long time, until their fingers tremble. There are no loud drums, only an internal earthquake that is expressed on the surface with one word:“warmth.” But not cozy, more like the kind that makes your heart tighten, like the heat in your chest before you start crying. And while“Heat. Heat. Heat.” plays, it feels like it's not a sound, but a pulse trying to say more than words can express.