There’s a hollowness here, a void that stretches endlessly, where even my own voice feels foreign, swallowed by the howling winds of solitude. I find myself wandering through this frozen wasteland, a landscape of broken dreams and unspoken words. 

The demons wait for me here. They always do. Shadows given shape by regret and fear, their whispers blend with the storm. 
But what choice do I have but to face them? To let the storm rage on and try to hold my ground. I am tired, so tired, yet I walk forward, step by step, through the endless white, through the cold that bites at my resolve.

For now, I am alone with the snow, the silence, and the battle within. And though I long for an end to this frozen agony, I know the only way out is through.

a letter from the winter

I watch myself moving through the days, going through motions that feel rehearsed, like lines from a play I no longer understand. My voice sounds hollow, foreign, as though it belongs to someone else entirely. And the moments—they stretch and collapse all at once, blurring into a shapeless haze. Time doesn’t flow anymore; it pools, stagnant and still, while I float somewhere above it all, unable to reach down.

There’s a strange kind of quiet in this state, a numbness that feels both a blessing and a curse. It also steals the color, the weight, the life from everything around me.  Now, I’m not sure where I am—only that it is somewhere between, nowhere at all.

I wish I could tell you how it started, when exactly I began to slip. But the truth is, I didn’t notice until I was already gone. And now, as I drift further, I wonder if there is a way back. Sometimes I call out, hoping someone will hear me through this vast and silent distance. But my voice is lost in the void, and I am left with nothing but echoes of myself.

Perhaps this is what it means to disappear—not all at once, but piece by piece, until you are little more than a memory fading into the wind.

this is what it menas to disappear

Memory was never meant to last. I understand that now. I try to hold onto the past, but it unspools in my hands, a fragile ribbon of moments degrading with time. Perhaps I was naive to believe that anything remains untouched.

The colors are faded, the details smudged. Were the summers really that golden? Did their laughter really sound like that?

Some memories skip, caught in an endless loop of replay until they no longer make sense. Others have been recorded over, layer upon layer, until I can no longer tell what was real and what was rewritten. And then there are those that simply vanish—wiped clean by time, leaving only an empty silence where something important once lived.

I reach for them, but the reels spin without sound. Nothing is there.

This is what frightens me the most—not that I will forget, but that what remains will be nothing more than an echo, a distortion of the truth, a song played so many times it no longer resembles the original. How much of me is already gone? How much of what I believe is real has already collapsed into static?

generation loss

save me

Download / Stream:
https://lnk.dmsmusic.co/les_weweresupposedtoleavetogether-1

we were supposed to leave together

missing

let it go

i'm miserable

Peace

00013

in your nightmares, haunting you forever

instagram.com/bienbienbienbienbien
https://open.spotify.com/artist/1Q1YaJhj7mePPO9K2xtsTi?si=s92hSYQpREO7phI6cW1nmQ

let it go

FTBN

Recent comments

Tempered

Related tracks