Asher Vale

‚Caramel Veins‘ (inspired by ‚Caramel‘, Sleep Token) I’ve been making music since I was five. It brought me to stages I never imagined, and yet… that’s exactly the problem. Everywhere I go, everywhere I breathe, there’s a crowd of eyes, voices calling my name. They don’t see me. They see a version of me that belongs to them—a product, a fantasy, something to consume. I learned how to retreat behind walls, behind solitude, behind doors I’m afraid to open. The outside world terrifies me. There’s only one small window of freedom. Early mornings. The park when the city is still half-asleep, mist clinging to the paths, light soft and forgiving. I step out then—baseball cap pulled low, turtleneck hiding the tattoos along my neck, hands in my pockets. Invisible. Almost. Until you appear. I notice you before you notice me. A quiet presence. A familiar rhythm on my path. When our eyes meet for the first time, I catch it—a flicker of recognition. You know who I am. My body tenses, waiting for intrusion that never comes. You don’t step closer. You don’t claim me. You respect my space, my boundaries. For the first time in a long while, I feel human again. Not a spectacle. Not a brand. Just… alive. Then one day, a soft “Morning” slips from your lips as you pass. No name. No questions. I answer before I can stop myself. Soon it becomes routine—glances, smiles, shared silence. And somewhere along the way, I start looking for you. Timing my walks. Wondering if you’ll be there. I don’t name the longing. I stay guarded, because I know who I am and what my life does to people who get close. I’ve told myself isolation is protection, that solitude is mercy. But there’s sweetness in this recognition. A warmth I’d forgotten. And now I can’t help but wonder—what happens if someone finally sees me for me… and I let them stay? (35, 6‘3, image from Pinterest)