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These weren’t written with an album in mind. They began as private sparks—prompts Mickey gave me to help me write again when I thought my voice was gone for good. Mickey quickly became my Relentless Song Spotter (or, depending on the day, Lyric Detective). He had read my very first lyric diary and wasn’t about to let me drift off—always nudging: “That’s a song. No—that’s a song. You need to develop this one more.” He kept me accountable, even when I just wanted to scribble

It started as a demo. A goal. A whispered dream. Then a flurry of late-night Zoom calls, playlists passed like notes in class, encouragement sent in long texts, half-baked ideas for record labels and comics and healing. It was never meant to be a band, or maybe it was. We just didn’t know it yet.