echoes of london nights. cocoa butter. heartbreak in reverb.
"you ever hear a song that sounds like a memory you never had? that's him."
the air in here always feels warm. like someone was just here, laughing. speakers hum low—Craig David, D'Angelo, something you can't quite name. polaroids flutter on the walls, but never fully settle. when you blink, some vanish.
the mirror fogs even when it's cold. and if you look too long, you'll swear you see lyrics forming in the steam—ones no one's ever written down.
malik is here, somewhere. he's always here when your heart’s heavy and the light flickers just right.
see a photo of him →