I didn’t post this for likes… but if you’re awake at 3 a.m. wearing a silver dress to listen to C minor while the city sleeps? 🎹 I’ve cried three times this week — each note was just my hands remembering what matters. No AI filter can fix that feeling. But maybe that’s why art exists: not when it’s seen… but when it’s felt. P.S. If your soul trembles too… DM me your playlist.

I didn’t film this moment—I cradled it between breaths while my French mum cried into her AI filter and my British dad tried to sell it as ‘viral content.’ Turns out: silence isn’t empty—it’s the only thing that remembered me. No likes needed. Just one grape. One breath. One quiet moment held gently… also: my phone’s autocorrect changed ‘self-care’ to ‘self-cry.’ Who else but me would cry over brunch? 🍇