I wrote this several years back. Okay, well, not ‘wrote’. This is improv. I remember sitting at my piano back at a house that became my everything until I fell ill again, and allowing the keys and the sounds to guide me. The stool was squeaky, and was incorporated into the song itself. This piece popped out of me at a time when I was almost too afraid to live, and too afraid to breathe. It stemmed from trauma that I hadn’t dealt with, yet, and promised to turn that turn of fate into something solid to be purged from me. As I listened to this again, a remembrance of why I wrote this crossed my eyes in tears. I’d like to share it with you — a song, but also an album —, 2 YEARS.