Singles

Some wounds aren't caused by lies.

Sometimes they're caused by being misunderstood.

"You Should've Known" is an original song about the painful question many of us are afraid to ask:

"If you truly loved me... would you recognize my heart beyond my face?"

Inspired by the emotional conflict of trust, identity, forgiveness, and second chances, this song isn't about blame; it's about what happens when love is tested in ways neither person ever expected.

I wrote this song after reflecting on how easily people can mistake who we are when life changes us. We all grow, we all carry invisible scars, and sometimes the hardest part isn't losing someone; it's wondering if they ever truly knew us.

“Here” is about the strange emotional violence of returning to a place that still feels shared, even when the person isn’t there anymore. It’s about sitting with cold coffee and old memories, hearing someone’s footsteps in every stranger, and realizing that a place can hold onto love long after two people stop holding onto each other. The song moves through regret, longing, and the kind of hope that hurts because you already know how unlikely it is;  but you still can’t stop asking the question anyway.

I wrote “Here” because that moment felt too heavy to leave unspoken. The coffee shop wasn’t just a setting;  it became a witness to everything we had, everything we lost, and everything I still hadn’t fully let go of. It made me think about missed chances, unfinished goodbyes, and how one familiar place can turn into a doorway back to a version of your life you can’t return to.

At its core, “Here” is a song about waiting in the ruins of something beautiful and wondering whether love would recognize the address if it ever wanted to come back.

Some people leave your life.  Some memories never do.

Still Dreaming About You is about that strange place where your heart has already accepted the ending, but your dreams haven't caught up yet.

I started writing this song from a simple question: Can you truly move on if someone still visits you every night in your dreams?

It isn't about wanting someone back. It's about learning that healing isn't forgetting. Sometimes our minds revisit old chapters long after we've closed the book.

Through sleepless nights, imagined conversations, and memories that quietly return, this song follows the journey from confusion to acceptance. By the end, it isn't about chasing the past anymore. It's about finally choosing tomorrow.

If you've ever woken up remembering someone you thought you'd already left behind, I hope this song reminds you that healing isn't always a straight line.

Some Valentine songs are about finding love.

“hearts” is about what happens after you lose it, and still choose not to lose yourself.

I wrote this song from the emotional wreckage of a love that felt real, intense, and full of possibility, but couldn’t survive the weight of what it became. At its core, “hearts” is about two people who wanted to believe they could beat the storm together, only to discover that wanting something isn’t always enough to save it. One heart held on. One heart broke differently. And somewhere inside that collapse, this song was born.

What pushed me to write it wasn’t just the heartbreak—it was the aftermath. The silence after the love is gone. The way someone’s voice, touch, and memory still linger long after the relationship ends. The strange grief of knowing something beautiful once existed, even if it couldn’t stay. But more than that, I wrote “hearts” because I wanted to turn that pain into something honest: not just a song about loss, but a song about survival.

This is a Valentine song in its own way—not because it’s soft or idealistic, but because it takes love seriously enough to tell the truth about what it can leave behind. It’s about heartbreak, yes, but also about reclaiming yourself after being dimmed by someone who couldn’t hold what you gave them. It’s about learning that even when love doesn’t last, it can still shape you, sharpen you, and send you back to yourself stronger than before.

“Convenient” is a raw breakup song about realizing that someone only loves you when it suits them. I wrote it from the feeling of being stuck in a one-sided relationship where charm, promises, and temporary affection hide the absence of real commitment.

The song follows the journey from hoping someone will change to recognizing that true love requires effort, honesty, sacrifice, and reciprocity. It is for anyone who has felt like an option, held on to empty words, or learned that self-worth means walking away from half-love.

Some love stories don’t end with screaming, betrayal, or slammed doors.
Some end in the quiet.

“What Wasn’t Said” lives in that quiet; the kind filled with almost-confessions, swallowed apologies, and the unbearable weight of words that never found the light. It’s a piano ballad about silence doing the damage that love never meant to do, about pride standing where honesty should’ve been, and about carrying a goodbye long after the person is gone.

This song was written for the people who still revisit old conversations in their head…
the ones who know that sometimes the loudest thing in a broken relationship is the truth that never got spoken.

Some healing starts in the mirror.

“Flaws” is a song I wrote about the difficult, honest part of self-love, the part where you stop pretending you’re fine with everything and finally face the scars, doubts, mistakes, and insecurities you’ve been carrying for years. It came from that tension between wanting to accept yourself and still struggling with the parts of you that feel hard to love.

At its core, this song is about making peace with the person in the mirror. It’s about learning that flaws don’t cancel your worth, they tell your story. I wrote “Flaws” from a place of reflection and frustration, but also hope, because healing isn’t about becoming perfect. It’s about loving yourself slowly, truthfully, and without looking away.

Some songs come from love. Some come from heartbreak.

“Hello” came from a stranger feeling strangely real.

I wrote “Hello” after someone reached out claiming to be Miley Cyrus. I never knew for sure if it was really her, but the moment left enough of an emotional mark to become a song about curiosity, doubt, and the strange power of one unexpected “hello.” It should have been easy to dismiss. Part of me wanted to. But another part of me couldn’t ignore how immediate the feeling was: curiosity, disbelief, excitement, suspicion, admiration… and the weird emotional pull of wanting something to be true even when you don’t know if it is.

That’s where “Hello” lives.

This song isn’t really about fame. It’s about the emotional impact of a moment that catches you off guard. A single message. A simple “hello.” The way one interaction can light something up in you before your mind has time to verify it. The song moves through that tension—being starstruck and skeptical at the same time, wanting proof but already feeling the pull, knowing it might be a fantasy and still being unable to deny that it meant something in the moment.

"Castle Sky" is a song about those quiet moments between hope and heartbreak—when someone occupies your thoughts long after the day is over. It's about building a world with someone in your mind, creating memories that feel real, and waking up wishing they could exist beyond your dreams.

With its acoustic pop sound and heartfelt storytelling, "Castle Sky" explores longing, imagination, and the desire to turn a beautiful "what if" into something real.

I started writing "Dance With Me" in 2016, but it took five years to finally complete the lyrics. Looking back, I realize that the song wasn't waiting for better words; it was waiting for me to understand what it truly meant.

For me, Dance With Me lives inside a dream.

This song is a poetic metaphor for life and love, framed as a waltz under the “ballroom of stars.” It explores choice, fate, and the tension between safety and adventure, symbolized by the “blue pill” as the path of comfort and predictability. The verses paint vivid imagery of dancing as both art and destiny, where each step reflects decisions that shape the future. The pre-chorus and chorus emphasize connection, urging a partner to embrace the rhythm of life together, facing both joy and hardship without hesitation. The bridge highlights the balance of shadows and light, reinforcing that love gives meaning to fate’s unpredictable beat. By the later verses, the song contrasts comfort with boundless exploration, declaring love as the greater risk and reward. With its sweeping imagery and recurring invitation to “dance with me,” it captures both intimacy and universality, ultimately celebrating courage, love, and the shared act of creating something lasting in the dance of life.