more and more
the pink camellia//longing
I hate the cold. I’m lethargic, shivering, and searching in vain for any sign of life in and around me. By March, I find myself desperately begging for springtime despite fearing what I’ll find once the snow melts.
“More and More” is a lullaby you’d sing if you were trapped in a box in the middle of the ocean. A short rote prayer to mutter while you hope (and doubt then hope again then doubt again) to be rescued.
In the times I feel empty, there’s a tension between feeling exhausted but desperately wanting to want more from life. I’m lulled into a false sense of security and peace, so much so, that I simply don’t want to leave the box. The little crate is familiar at this point— I know it better than I know myself… and I don’t know what’s waiting for me outside of it.
When I do somehow end up outside, I see how each scrape and yell (from me and others) that felt pointless and exhausting in the moment made freedom possible and how absolutely miserable, tiny, and dark that crate is. It’s scary to leave the box, especially if you know that you’ll be thrust back in it, but the “safety” it provides is a lie.
For the first third of March, I prepped a bouquet of pink camellias in hopes that you long for life, even when you’re surrounded by darkness.
credits:
mixing/mastering by HONEYVERB RECORDS
the pink camellia//longing
I hate the cold. I’m lethargic, shivering, and searching in vain for any sign of life in and around me. By March, I find myself desperately begging for springtime despite fearing what I’ll find once the snow melts.
“More and More” is a lullaby you’d sing if you were trapped in a box in the middle of the ocean. A short rote prayer to mutter while you hope (and doubt then hope again then doubt again) to be rescued.
In the times I feel empty, there’s a tension between feeling exhausted but desperately wanting to want more from life. I’m lulled into a false sense of security and peace, so much so, that I simply don’t want to leave the box. The little crate is familiar at this point— I know it better than I know myself… and I don’t know what’s waiting for me outside of it.
When I do somehow end up outside, I see how each scrape and yell (from me and others) that felt pointless and exhausting in the moment made freedom possible and how absolutely miserable, tiny, and dark that crate is. It’s scary to leave the box, especially if you know that you’ll be thrust back in it, but the “safety” it provides is a lie.
For the first third of March, I prepped a bouquet of pink camellias in hopes that you long for life, even when you’re surrounded by darkness.
credits:
mixing/mastering by HONEYVERB RECORDS
lyrics:
I've been so dry lately
Let it pour
Let me be filled up
More and more
I've been so empty lately
Let it pour
Let me be filled up
More and more
'Cuz I still want more from life
Than what I've been given thus far
Knowing every heart beat is a miracle
I might be a glutton for pain
But I yearn for spring
With every ending, there's a new beginning
I've been so restless lately
Let it pour
Let me be filled up
More and more and more and more
I've been so dry lately
Let it pour
Let me be filled up
More and more
I've been so empty lately
Let it pour
Let me be filled up
More and more
'Cuz I still want more from life
Than what I've been given thus far
Knowing every heart beat is a miracle
I might be a glutton for pain
But I yearn for spring
With every ending, there's a new beginning
I've been so restless lately
Let it pour
Let me be filled up
More and more and more and more