Dreamin'

Everything here is like a prolonged summer storm: humid air, fingers trembling with tension, and that same obsessive thought that you can't get out of your head. The words are simple, almost naive, but they sound like a confession that has been rehearsed hundreds of times in front of the mirror. Each ‘dreamin'’ contains both hope and weariness from the endless game of ‘who will give in first.’ The result is not a serenade or a vow, but rather a diary of adolescent feelings that have grown up and learned to ask without a hint of irony: ‘stay, without you it's not the same.’