Half of what I say is meaningless, but I say it just to reach you.

Those times when all you got is nothing, but the song of the old times, when you used to sing to yourself, when the greatest company was yourself. You sing again, you ask about the day, you lay down and press play, and the words flow through your mind, into your skin, so slowly so tenderly, you forget you’re here.

So I sing a song of love, expecting something which I already know. And this is it, the time when it comes together.