When Lyrics Move: The Making of My Forever Love Video
In February 2025, a vision began to form in my heart—quiet at first, but persistent. Forever Love had just been released on February 14th, a song born from the tender, tangled space between holding on and moving on. But I didn’t want the story to live only in lyrics. I wanted to show it. I wanted people to feel it in their bodies, the way I had felt it in mine. So I decided to create a music video—one that I would choreograph, concept, and dance in myself.
It was my first time taking on something this personal, this layered. And I won’t lie—being a perfectionist made it hard. This wasn’t just any project. This was my song. My story. And I wasn’t handing it off to someone else to interpret. I was standing in it. Moving in it. Exposing the deepest parts of myself through choreography.
What if it didn’t turn out the way I saw it in my head? What if the emotion got lost in translation? What if I failed to do the story justice?
That Monday, I walked into my dance class and told my students the truth: I don’t have steps ready. I only have a feeling. A concept. And I need you to help me build this from the ground up. I shared the heart of the piece with them—the messy truth behind Forever Love.
It’s a song about a breakup. Not just the moment of separation, but the full spectrum—the closeness, the distance, the slow unraveling, the pain of being seen and ignored at the same time. And eventually… the quiet relief of letting go.
The choreography mirrors that emotional arc. Duets show the closeness and conflict. Solos reveal the isolation within connection. And the group scenes hold the chaos—the way friends, memories, or even your own thoughts surround you when love starts to fade.
At the center of it all is a letter. A symbol. In the intro, it represents hope—words that seem full of love. But by the end, we realize those words were the last thing that person ever gave. And so the letter becomes a turning point. The trigger for heartbreak. The moment the dance begins.
And the ending? It’s not dramatic. It’s not neat. It’s soft. Quiet. Surrendering. It’s the moment I finally let go—of the person, the pain, the confusion. I stop searching for closure… and I start finding myself again.
Creating this video was hard. Vulnerable. Imperfect. But it’s real. And maybe you’ll see a part of your own story in it, too.
If you've ever loved someone deeply… and had to let them go without the answers you hoped for…
If you've ever written or received words that promised everything—and ended in silence...
If you've ever needed movement to say what words couldn’t...
Then this is for you.