Drift is a song of connections between memories, happy for their contact but sad for their passing. The things that might’ve been noticed sooner. It is about the complexity that comes together through us and all around us, that we divide into fragments to be experienced on our own terms.
It is for my grandmother, and my mother clasping the candles’ warmth to her face; for the short days of summer that seemed longer while they shone, and for my cousin restless on the floor; for rivers and forests and flowers, the birds that leave after the storm; for paths, and my partner sleeping on the couch.
For the connections despite the gaps we make.