Willoughby's Theme

An instrumental portrait of the beloved, all nerves and altitude. No words arrive because none have been risked yet. This is the held breath before a single one is spoken, when everything is still possible and nothing has yet been lost.

What it holds instead of a lyric is the dizzying, faintly nauseating rush of falling for someone, the stomach dropping and the ears ringing, tenderness at the edge of panic. The melody that surfaces here becomes his, and the record keeps reaching back for it.