track by track…

Though at the beginning, this truth begins in the middle, after love has taken it’s grasp. Deeper than a love confession though, it’s a true realization:
That sometimes, the loudest voice in the room is silence.

This track begins not with bravado, but surrender. It’s the echo of Brooklyn’s concrete heart and Queens’ guarded trust. It’s subtle unraveling of ego, marinating in melody.

“It’s Only You” is the letter I never meant to write, but couldn’t ignore.
It’s not about loneliness, it’s about clarity and acceptance:
That even in a crowded room, love can still feel like a solo act.

This one doesn’t come from bitterness… it comes from pain.
It’s the sound of my heart after it’s been cracked wide open but still chooses to beat louder.
“Loved You Harder” isn’t about loss—it’s about labor. The work we do for people who don’t always clock in with us.
There’s beauty in that kind of commitment, even if it’s unreciprocated.
From late-night voice notes to silent treatments turned symphonies,
I gave until I was empty and called it love.
And maybe it was. Maybe that’s what made it sacred.
This ain’t no victim’s tale,
it’s a testimony…
That even the strongest break when they’ve bent too far.

We’re all just looking for our tribe in a world full of tourists.
“My Kind” is a rare find.
It’s a soulful song about searching for familiarity in someone else’s spirit.
Not perfection, but presence.
Not flawless, but felt.

It’s like the warm breeze on a cold day.
Like when someone sees you without pretense, when your walls and guards are down… and doesn’t flinch.

This isn’t just about romance.
It’s recognition.
Ancestral alignment.
The kind of connection that doesn’t ask for me to shrink, but to expand.
This song isn’t about them, it’s about what they awaken in me.
A mirror I didn’t expect to like.

Queens made me sharp, Atlanta made me still. This track is tunnel vision with rhythm. “No Distractions” is me choosing myself in a world seemingly built to try and pull me apart.

This track wasn’t created from arrogance, but from necessity.
Because I know what happens when we ignore the whispers…
we end up back where we promised we’d never go.

This is my prayer wrapped in percussion.
A vow to remain focused, unfazed, and unshaken when love tries to sneak in dressed as opportunity.
It’s a promise not to fall for the glitter this time.
This time, I came for the gold.

This is for the ones who still move like they’re broke, even when they’re touching abundance.
“Northern Ambition” is Gowanus grit with Queens polish. It’s a reminder that no matter where I land, I come from somewhere.

This track smells like stairwells and cold winters, sounds like cousin ciphers and mother’s warnings.
It’s a celebration of survival and the refusal to settle.
You can take the kid out the borough, but you can’t take the hunger.
And hunger, when paired with vision, is damn near prophetic.
These aint just bars,
this is time-travel.

It’s funny how people act confused when you finally call it what it is.
“Obvious” is my deep sigh turned into a groove. It’s that moment when pretending gets heavier than honesty.
A smooth shrug at the games they swore were subtle.
This ain’t shade, it’s sunlight.
Revelation wrapped in rhythm.
The beat makes it danceable, but the bars?
They cut.

I didn’t come to convince anyone.
I came to confirm what was already there… And when truth is clear, it doesn’t need to shout.

This is where it turns inward again.
“The Difference” is about me, but not the version y’all see.
It’s the part that wakes up early, stays up late, and questions everything in between.
The ache behind the ambition.
It’s the gap between what they think I am and what I know I’m becoming.
This track is my journal entry in melody.
A confession and a challenge—
to never fold into someone else’s comfort.
I am the difference.
In rooms, in hearts, in outcomes.
And I finally believe it. I finally know it.

The calm after the climax.
“Late Interlude” is reflection without resistance.
It’s the inhale I didn’t know I needed.
No rhymes trying to impress—just truth trying to breathe.
This is the stillness of growth,
the quiet where clarity hides.
I wrote this in the spaces between heartbreak and healing.
In the silence after the storm, when I realize peace is a decision,
not a destination.
Short. Subtle. Sacred.
A moment to look back before I move forward.

And now we close—not with certainty, but with courage.
“We’ll Find Out” is both question and answer.
A slow dance with possibility.
Because maybe love doesn’t need promises, just presence.
Maybe healing doesn’t come in straight lines, but spirals.
This track is hope, with its sleeves rolled up.
An honest farewell to what was,
and a gentle invitation to what could be.
It doesn’t rush.
It doesn’t beg.
It simply trusts that if it’s meant,
it will stay—
and if not,
I’ll still be whole.