Lately I’ve been noticing that hazy space between sleep and waking. That moment where you don’t quite know where you are yet. Where the room feels unfamiliar, even though it’s yours. Where a dream lingers like a feeling rather than a memory.
I’ve always been drawn to that space. The in-between. Not fully here. Not fully gone. Where things blur at the edges and certainty loosens its grip.
It’s not just something that happens at night. I think we live there more often than we realise.
There are seasons where life feels solid. Clear lines. Firm ground. And then there are times when everything feels softer. Slippery. Where thoughts loop. Where memories feel like they might have happened yesterday — or never. Where the future feels close enough to imagine but too far to touch.
In those moments, reality doesn’t disappear. It just… shifts slightly out of focus. And something about that has always fascinated me. Not in a dramatic way. More in a quiet, observational way. Like watching your own mind wander through corridors you didn’t know were there.
Dreaming came from that feeling.
Not from one specific night, but from that sense of drifting. Running without moving. Searching without knowing what for. The strange mix of fear and curiosity that comes when you’re not sure what’s real, but you keep going anyway.
There’s motion in the song. Falling, circling, looping back on itself. It doesn’t land neatly... because that’s not what that state feels like. It feels suspended. A little restless. A little unsteady. But also… open.
Sometimes being lost in the in-between is uncomfortable. But sometimes it’s where something shifts. Where an old pattern loosens. Where a new thought sneaks in. Where you see something you’d been too busy to notice before.
Maybe we don’t always need to rush back to solid ground. Maybe sometimes the drifting is part of it.
Dreaming is out now.
If you’re in that space too... somewhere between what was and what’s next... I hope it feels like company.