Split Me

Bills are paid and the lights stay on, but something inside keeps dimming. Mitey Veyra gives voice to the quiet pressure of fitting a living self into a smaller life.

Under borrowed suns, the parts worn thin by ordinary life begin to heal. Mitey Veyra enters imagined worlds to recover her breath and return with something of herself intact.

Duty leaves its weight and hardship leaves its scars. Mitey Veyra holds onto the wonder within them, refusing to survive at the cost of disappearing.

Every safe horizon feels too small when curiosity is part of breathing. Mitey Veyra follows the questions that keep her becoming, searching for a home with room to move.

One self still wants to build a world; another can barely face the day. Mitey Veyra carries both through cold trance textures, searching for a way to begin again.

Inside a cell, breath and repetition become a private doorway. Mitey Veyra draws the hours into stillness until the clock can no longer measure everything she is.

The walls remain, but something inside them keeps growing. Mitey Veyra turns the silence of confinement into music and finds room for a sky within herself.

An old drive opens onto games, songs, and lives left unfinished. Nera Voss listens to the selves preserved in those files, and to all the years spent saying later.