This time, I know it felt so real
Losing my mind, one dream at a time
And honestly, I see us now
It’s too late to cry, please show me a sign
Dreams and memory are not separate from reality, but the very texture of it. What we call waking life is another dream, thicker perhaps, more insistent. To plead for a sign is to forget that the sign is already present: in the ache itself, in the longing. Distance, too, is not an enemy but a reminder: the space between reveals the shape of our yearning. Hope and resignation are not opposites; they are two sides of the same gesture, the inhalation and exhalation of consciousness, teaching us that absence and presence are woven from the same mysterious thread.
Libras, from Philadelphia’s Forest Circles, glides into view with the quiet conviction of a secret being shared, a song that leans toward the eternal and then retracts into the personal. Angel Ocana’s voice seems to hover above itself, breath meeting breath. His delivery is delicate without dissolving, airbrushed with the ache of memory, and yet anchored by the calm recognition that longing is its own form of belonging. Each phrase holds weight, even as it drifts, forming a fragile architecture of absence and desire.
The instrumentation moves like tides you never quite see arriving: synthesizers swelling and retreating, tones unfolding with the patience of clouds. There’s no rush, no insistence on climax. Instead, there is a sense of orbit, of elements circling each other with magnetic inevitability. The music appears to understand that loss is full of echoes, that every departure is its own chorus.
Paired with the single, the DIY video for Libras extends this atmosphere into an astral ritual. Smoke rises and disperses as though tracing invisible shapes, water ripples hint at hidden forces, and sudden cosmic flashes disrupt the calm. These are not random visuals but symbols that propose a truth larger than the everyday: that love, separation, and memory are not private events but cosmic ones. The body aches, the mind remembers, the universe replies.
Watch the visuals for “Libras” below:
Forest Circles conjure intimacy through suggestion, through restraint, through the quiet confidence that fragility is a strength. There is a balance here: between the ordinary ache of distance and the extraordinary sweep of existence, that feels precisely aligned with the sign it invokes. Like its title, the song tips its scales between tenderness and transcendence, between the small grief of a voice lost and the vast solace of a universe listening.
Listen to Libras below and order the single here.
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