A fragile sketch in sound — intimate, hushed, and raw. This lo-fi confessional feels like pages written before the words were ready for ink. Stripped bare with voice at the center, it lingers on silence, breath, and subtle phrasing. A companion piece that captures vulnerability in its earliest form.

[LYRICS]

Lost and found, funny place.
You never know till you do.

I’ll be your umbrella when the sky lets go,
I’ll be your glasses when the world’s a blur.
I’ll be your small lighter when the power’s out,
Your calm in the thunder when you’re full of doubt.

They say what’s lost ain’t always gone,
Sometimes it waits to lean on.

I’m your lost and found when the world spins round,
A friend at your side when you’re feeling down.
Button for your coat when it will not close,
The flower you pressed in a book no one knows.

That one glove you lost, yes sir, I’m her.
I’ll be your map when you lose your street.
That lucky coin waiting under your seat,
I’ll be your charger when your spark runs weak.

I’ve been forgotten and I’ve worn some dust,
Still I’m your mirror when you need to trust.

I’m your lost and found when the world spins round,
Come find me again when you’re feeling down.
I was yours all along, just out of sight.

Just out of sight.

Lost and Found (Before the Ink)

I’ve always lived at the crossroads of music and poetry — where feeling becomes form, and melody turns memory into meaning. Whether it’s a lingering jazz note, a well-placed rhyme, or a shift in tempo that tells a deeper story, I’m drawn to that quiet magic where art reflects life with a little more style.

My roots are in classic music — the kind that doesn’t chase the moment but lingers with you long after the last note. Over time, that love expanded into poetry writing and jazz — especially the kind that swings, speaks, and smirks all at once. Jazz, to me, isn’t just a genre; it’s a personality. A conversation. A little tilt of the head and a grin that knows more than it says.

When I set out to create an album, it’s rarely just a collection of songs. I approach it like a personal playlist — one that drifts and flows as if the entire tracklist were one long, uninterrupted piece. Each track leans into the next, shifting mood, pace, or voice, but always carrying the same thread of feeling. I want you to listen the way I do — not as a shuffle of moments, but as a cinematic arc. One breath that lasts an hour.

Lyrically, my work is rooted in lived experience. Sometimes it’s obvious. Other times it’s just the skeleton of a memory, dressed up in wit, irony, or longing. I draw from real-life events, then let the poet in me twist, stretch, or sweeten them to taste. Depending on the tone of the album — playful, romantic, nostalgic, or something in between — I try to keep the emotional truth intact while giving it a fresh coat of creativity. A little humor where it fits. A deeper dive where it hurts.

My newest jazz album continues this tradition — short-lined swing tracks, conversational duets, and tongue-in-cheek storytelling. It’s an homage to late-night alleyway ballads, rooftop serenades, and train station goodbyes — all bound together with a sense of charm and cohesion. Each song is its own little scene, but together they tell a story — one you can revisit with each replay.

Thanks for stopping by my profile. I hope you find something that earns a spot on your repeat-play list — a melody, a lyric, or a moment that feels like it was written just for you.

New tracks tagged #before-the-ink