New versions of myself appear in the mirror quicker than they used to, the people I love become blurry outlines, and I miss home. It’s difficult to pinpoint exactly when things began changing. Maybe when I took the photos off my wall. Now, the hours bleed into each other, my memories entangle. Yesterday is today is tomorrow is all of the days I will ever see. I feel a dense fog settling in.

In these quiet moments, I revisit the songs that help me find comfort in monotony. They let me hold on to the people and places I have loved. They are gentle echoes reminding me that I am alive, focusing my thoughts, reflecting the clear blue sky back to me. 

“What I Wanted to Hold” unravels like a faded memory pared back to its most striking details. Sprague’s voice is weightless, suspended over fluttering guitar and hushed keys. Droning strings stretch beneath, steady and stable. I’m alive and I’m okay / the air is light blue today, she sings, a simple affirmation that becomes the heart of this playlist. 

“Dragon New Warm Mountain I Believe In You” begins with soft brushes and fingerpicked guitar, a gentle pattern that spirals around Lenker’s steady voice. She is bold in her delivery, her high register lilting and comforting. She spills out, I believe in you / even when you need to / recoil, grounding the song in quiet assurance. 

In “Band Sit Together,” Robertson’s words are barely discernible, fragments that drift in and out of focus. The soft familiarity of her hums accompanies the bright, plucky guitar. In “Good Morning, Al,” Evenson’s whispery voice weaves through tight acoustic picking, cutting through the stillness. Like Robertson, her delivery is delicate, intimate, and wrapped in warmth. 

“Tears Are In Your Eyes” moves slowly, its uniform bass line and soft kick drum providing an unwavering rhythm. Hubley’s voice, layered with Kaplan’s harmonies, draws soft circles in your head, reminding you that darkness always turns into the dawn. There’s a tenderness in the song’s unhurried nature that invites you to lean in.

“Hold On Magnolia” unfurls like a mournful waltz, electric guitar weeping in long, aching notes. Simple snare rolls and drowsy keys land heavy on the downbeat, lending weight to the intermittent silence. Molina drawls, hold on Magnolia / to that great highway moon, as the song morphs into a mellow cry. 

“20220302 – sarabande” is more of a sketch than a song, a delicate piano composition that’s been stripped to its barest form. Notes linger and vanish, each one carefully placed, as if withholding something. Finally, “Deep Blue Day” drifts by like a dream, carrying smooth electronic drones layered with the gentle murmur of pedal steel guitar. Its repetitive melody offers a place to centre yourself. We close on a wistful note. 

I listen to these songs and blink through the countless versions of myself. I am standing outside my childhood home for the last time, the clouds moving faster than usual. I am sitting on my uncle’s porch with my sister, unable to discern where the water meets the sky. I am tapping away at my dad’s drum kit, while patches of dusk creep through dense branches. I am watching the geese glide past, already saying goodbye to a new friend. I am on the train again and again and again. More places, more spaces, more blue days ahead. Sprague’s voice in my head: When the summer goes long / when the water stays warm / I remember the faces of everyone I’ve loved.

I am stepping outside. The air is still light blue today.