► Track Four

686 29 32
                                    

˚                     *                       ⋆
      ˛                *                          ⭒                    ✺
                                                             ・          *・゚:      * ❅                              ✧                            
                ・ ・                      ..✹         ✧..            
     .      *✫          ⋆*❅*•̩̩͙ ゚                 ..+                ⋆
     
         ⋆                         *                  .                    * .
                  . ・     .     ・                 .                *    . 
        . ・            ・ +         .                ⋆** ゚          ..+
               .     ⋆                        *                             .
                        * .             .・    .    ・                  .
                        ⊹                         . *                      ✧
     ˚                            ..
         ⋆     ・*・.・                             ..                 ..
                                                         * ⊹ *゚
                ・+                  ・*✫
    ..               .          ⋆             ❅                    ✫
  
     * .        . ・      . ゚             ⋆                 *⁎̩͙  .
                                                ・*・.・
        . ・      ・⊹     .                                         ..+
                         .          ⋆                ❅               .   

           ✫.             . ゚ . ⋆*           .               ⋆           .

ᵗʰᵉ ʳᵉᵃᵖᵉʳ

1:15 ───|────── 3:07

|◁ II ▷|

∞ ↺
 ⇉ sᴋɪᴘ     ♡ ʟɪᴋᴇ

▁ ▂ ▃ ▄ ▅ ▆ █ 100 %




NYA

NYA LIKED TO THINK, that if she ever got a musical written about her life, that this moment would be scored with a chaotic assemble of six-part dramatic harmonies alongside agressive dancing and incoherent screaming.

Because, this existential crisis of sudden morals through her internal conflict, needed some...orchestral support. So yeah, Lin Manuel Miranda, if you're reading this...*wink wink, nudge nudge*

See her mind had divided in two, like two rivals, like Justine LittleWood and Tracy Beaker, the best example of course, the two sides constantly bickering. One side, she'd say Tracy, wanted to punch that light haired southerner in the face for starting yet another fight and a six-part book series of grievances she had with him, but the other side, Justine, wanted to thank him for fixing that stupid bike that meant so much to Liam. The bare minimum. She also needed her book back at some point, so talking to him again would be inevitable.

The soft rhythem of, Blue Öyster Cult, the latest mysterious mixtape accompanied Nya as she sat alone in the art room, hoping to hide from all things Britpop. Her paintbrush swept across the pallette, swirling together deep blue oceans and light blue skies, the paint waiting to aid in the composition of her next creation. The bristles the brush embraced the collected colours, lost in thought as her daydreams were etched onto the canvas.

𝐌𝐈𝐗𝐓𝐀𝐏𝐄➳𝗱𝗮𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝗮𝗹𝗯𝗮𝗿𝗻Where stories live. Discover now