Description
A track is like the habit of checking your phone, knowing that there's nothing good there again. And yet you still swipe, enter your PIN, and feel your heart in your throat. Because sometimes love isn't about butterflies in your stomach, but about the bruise where they used to be. Everything here sounds like it's coming through the smoke of yesterday's drama and the unfinished“we'll talk later.” Note after note is like footsteps on cracks that won't heal. It seems like feelings have long since worn out, but fo r s ome re a son, th a t' s what k eeps us g o ing. B eca u se fami l ia r pain i s al s o a co n nect i on. The ch o rus c u t s l i ke a truth that no one has s a i d, b u t ev e ryone al r e ady unde r stand s. And y e s, m a y be thi s is the“downf a ll, ” b u t how be a ut i ful it is to drown in it t o t h is b eat.