supported by 18 fans who also own “Forgotten Hill”
A glaze of frost envelops you as you open your eyes to a frozen blue sky reflecting in millions of icy mirrors around you.
Curled up in a cotton nest, protected from this transition of seasons by a coat of fragility and love, the cold can't seem to reach you. Separated from your own reality, the outside world is like a faded polaroid that already lived its life, clumsily looping in a reassuring kind of déjà vu filtered by forgotten memories.
An aural cesura skimming the borders of certainty. Dotflac