In A Parallel Universe
Get Off Into Now | 01
Get Off Into Now
"Get Off Into Now" lives in the moment where thinking lets go. I’m not leaving anything behind—I’m stepping out of delay, out of anticipation, into what is already here.
Into now means choosing presence over meaning. It’s not about escape, it’s about contact: with the body, the rhythm, the breath between two thoughts.
The song opens a state, not a story. If you enter, you don’t follow a path—you arrive.
I wrote it coming home, feeling lost between yesterday and tomorrow, unable to define the now.
Cheap Perfume Boy | 02
Cheap Perfume Boy
"Cheap Perfume Boy" is a memory that doesn’t fade the way it should. It may have happened, or it may not have. What stays is something I took home with me—a feeling, a remembrance I suddenly can’t get rid of.
It’s intimacy without proof. A presence without a name. Something from the past melts into the moment, blurring yesterday and making me feel tomorrow. The cheap perfume isn’t a flaw—it’s the trace that makes it real.
I wrote this knowing that some impressions don’t want resolution. They linger, slightly unreal, reminding you of something you never fully had—yet somehow still carry.
Two Moons | 03
Two Moons
"Two Moons" may have started with something real—a night, a glance, a closeness that felt suspended. But what stayed wasn’t the event. It was the sense of two presences drifting beside each other, close enough to reflect, too distant to collide.
I’m not singing about separation. I’m singing about parallel movement. Two souls moving through the same sky, aware of each other, wondering what would happen if they dared to fall back into time—if they let themselves hit the water again, just to see the waves form.
Two Moons lives in that thought. The wish to touch time once more, to create new ripples, knowing they will fade. Not to change the past—but to feel its motion again, briefly, before drifting on. What begins as something personal opens into something shared: a quiet glimpse of a different world, briefly imaginable.
Two Moons – works on a quite of many different layers. Have you listened yet? Tell me what it makes you feel on Instagram!
We Don't Talk About It | 04
We Don't Talk About It
"We Don't Talk About" grew out of what was never said. Not because it didn’t matter—but because saying it would have changed its shape. Some things survive only in silence.
This isn’t denial. It’s recognition. A shared understanding that words would flatten what was alive. We circle around it, careful not to touch it directly, knowing that naming can sometimes end what presence still holds.
The song stays with that tension. The closeness of not speaking. The agreement to leave something where it is—unresolved, intact. Not everything needs to be processed. Some truths remain real precisely because we don’t talk about them.
Poppy Dreams / How Can I? - Parabola Radio Edit | 05
Poppy Dreams / How Can I? - Parabola Radio Edit
"Poppy Dreams / How Can I?" is about letting go. About moments where you try to explain yourself, yet never feel fully understood. What stays isn’t clarity—it’s the effect those words have once you let them in.
Even when words are misunderstood, they still shape you. The response, intended or not, leaves a trace. It may lead somewhere different than expected, becoming something other than what was meant—but it still forms you.
This song lives in that aftermath. Not in what was said, but in what it did to me. Poppy Dreams / How Can I? is about how a conversation—understood or not—can quietly alter who you become.
Sing With Me - Wedding Afterparty Mix | 06
Sing With Me - Wedding Afterparty Mix
"Sing With Me - Wedding Afterparty Mix" is what happens after meaning dissolves. When promises are no longer spoken, roles fall away, and what remains is shared presence. Not the ceremony—but the afterglow.
This version isn’t about commitment in words. It’s about connection in motion. Voices don’t need to lead or follow; they move together. Singing becomes an act of staying—not forever, just long enough to feel aligned.
Sing With Me lives in that suspended space where celebration turns intimate. Where the night carries what the vows couldn’t hold. An invitation to move through my words into something inward—searching for a moment of harmony with time, with someone, within a shared now.
Too Good To Be True | 07
Too Good To Be True
"Too Good To Be True" is the moment the invitation is accepted. Not imagined anymore, not projected—felt. What was only alignment before becomes closeness, natural and unforced.
There is no question left here, no hesitation. The connection holds without needing to be named. It feels unreal only because it asks for nothing. No proof, no promise—just presence that sustains itself.
Too Good To Be True isn’t disbelief. It’s recognition—when two minds align in a glance, in a move, in a single contact. The quiet certainty that something real can exist without explanation, and that sometimes fulfillment arrives so gently it almost feels impossible.
Don't Ever Love Me | 08
Don't Ever Love Me
"Don't Ever Love Me" isn’t about rejecting love. It’s about understanding its weight. About realizing that some forms of love don’t arrive gently—they hit, and they keep moving.
This song lives in the thought that love is not always an arrow you can dodge. Sometimes it’s something far heavier, something you step into knowingly. Not to glorify pain, but to protect what matters. To take the impact so it doesn’t reach someone else.
Don’t Ever Love Me speaks from that place—where devotion becomes a conscious act, not a promise. Where love isn’t measured by what it gives back, but by what it absorbs. Not denying love, but carrying it far enough to become its greatest form. It’s not a warning, and it’s not a confession—it’s the quiet decision to stand in the way, again and again.
His Name Is Servant | 09
His Name Is Servant
"His Name Is Servant" doesn’t introduce a figure. It acknowledges a role that already exists. Someone who stepped in without being asked, who carried weight without naming it, who became defined by what he was willing to absorb.
This isn’t submission, and it isn’t devotion as spectacle. It’s presence shaped by endurance. The servant doesn’t disappear—he remains. Not because he has no will, but because he chose to stand where impact was inevitable.
The song looks at that position without judgment. Without praise—unless a name is needed, then perhaps Heinrich. Without distance. His Name Is Servant accepts the cost of protection as part of the story—not as sacrifice, but as identity. A name given not by power, but by what was taken on, silently, and held.
It carries something old forward—through fairy tales into contemporary, gentler minds in love. Not asking for anything in return.
In A Parallel Universe | 10
In A Parallel Universe
"In A Parallel Universe" gathers everything that came before—not to resolve it, but to let it exist at once. Moments, silences, misunderstandings, closeness and distance don’t line up anymore. They overlap. Time loosens its grip and becomes a surface you can move across.
The song doesn’t ask what was real and what wasn’t. It accepts that meaning can shift depending on where you stand. In this universe, things don’t cancel each other out—they coexist. What couldn’t happen still matters. What was never said still resonates.
As the album’s final chord, "In A Parallel Universe" doesn’t close a door. It widens the frame. It leaves the listener with the sense that another version is always unfolding somewhere nearby—shaped by the same choices, felt through different outcomes. Not an escape, not a fantasy—just the quiet understanding that more than one truth can be held at the same time.
Falling parallelly.