I’ve got a new single coming out called “In My Dreams.” And honestly… it feels a little weird to try to “announce” it like it’s a product, because this one came from a place that was way more human than hype.

This song started as a feeling I couldn’t shake: that half-awake loop where you’re trying to move forward, but your brain keeps pulling you back into the same scene. Same person. Same gravity. Same question you’ve been asking yourself for way too long.

Sometimes dreams are a relief. Sometimes they’re a trap. This one is both.

There’s a line that’s been sitting in my chest since I wrote it:

“i can only hope you’ll hold me tightly”

It’s simple. It’s also embarrassing to admit out loud. Which is probably why it needed to become a song.

The shape of the song

Musically, “In My Dreams” lives right around 127 bpm, that steady, forward motion where your body can move even if your head is still stuck. I wanted it to feel like indie dance with a real nod to dream pop, the way the best dream pop can be huge and soft at the same time.

There are walls of sound in here on purpose. I didn’t want everything to be pristine and “dance-floor perfect.” I wanted it to feel like a memory does: blurry around the edges, loud in the wrong places, familiar and unreal at the same time.

Underneath all that haze, there’s electric guitar holding the emotional shape of the track, not as a “rock” moment, more like a nervous system. That New Order-ish shimmer. That almost-romantic brightness that somehow still feels a little cold. The guitar isn’t there to show off. It’s there to haunt the corners.

I’ve joked that it’s “Fred again.. meets New Order,” but if I’m being real, it’s more like:

• the urgency of modern electronic music
• the ache of new wave
• and the floaty heartbreak of dream pop
  all trying to live in the same room.

What it’s actually about (for me)

The lyrics are about longing, sure, but the deeper thread is how confusing longing can be when it starts to mess with your sense of self.

There’s a part where the song turns inward and I’m basically arguing with my own brain:

• Why am I waiting?
• Why does it never happen when I want?
• Why does this person feel like a cage and a key at the same time?

That push-pull is the core of it. The “grasp that’s somehow freeing.” The feeling of reaching up into nothing and still believing something might reach back.

And then there’s the part that snuck up on me when I wrote it, the thing I didn’t realize I was admitting:

“why am i living only / to keep all the others happy”

That line is uncomfortable because it’s true more often than I’d like. There’s this quiet way you can start shaping your life around other people’s comfort. You think you’re doing “the right things,” and then one day you realize you might not be doing the right things for you.

That realization doesn’t always show up in a clean sentence. Sometimes it shows up as a chorus you can’t stop singing. Sometimes it shows up as a dream you can’t wake up from.

A note on “polish”

I love polished records. I also love records that feel like they still have fingerprints on them.

This one is intentionally a little rougher around the edges than “perfect” dance music. Not because I couldn’t smooth it out, but because the song itself isn’t smooth. It’s yearning. It’s impatient. It’s a little messy. It swears once because… sometimes that’s the only honest word.

I didn’t want to sand down the emotion just to make it more “streamable.”

How I hope you hear it

If you listen to “In My Dreams” and it reminds you of someone, I’m sorry… and also, I get it.

If you listen to it and it makes you want to move, even while you’re kind of heartbroken, that’s the exact contradiction I was trying to capture.

If you listen to it and you feel seen, even for a second, then it did what I needed it to do.

Where to find it

I’ll have it up on SoundCloud (for discovery + sharing) and Bandcamp (for lyrics + downloads + direct support). If you buy it on Bandcamp, just know that’s the most direct way to keep this whole Sunset Sky thing alive and moving.

And if you share it, privately to one person, or publicly, or just by telling a friend “this feels like 2am,” that matters more than people think.

Thank you for listening. Really.

— Sunset Sky

Listen to Miracle or Call Your Name