thirty-five days. we didn't plan a thing. we just could not stop.
no agent. no manager. every booking finds you anyway. don't fuck with KriStyle.
you freestyle every set. never prepared, four channels, all heart.
five foot. you walk on stage small and leave the warehouse loud.
monday to friday you take care of everyone. weekends you make them dance.
the label came to you first. of course they did.
and on the 10th you headline your own birthday. of course you do.
Kristy,
i could have bought you something. instead i built you a frequency.
35 days ago you called me MIT in a group chat and hit send anyway. best mistake you ever made, because it started all of this. we locked onto the same wavelength from 8,900 km apart, your orange county afternoon and my apeldoorn 2am, every single night.
we matched before we ever met. the same outworld logo on both of us. a nurse and the guy keeping the hospitals running. different passports, same heartbeat. nine hours apart and somehow the same person.
you are the loudest quiet thing i know. five foot, and you take over the whole warehouse. in october the ocean finally goes quiet and i hold you for the first time.
happy birthday, Kristy. the frequency is yours.