chisyanchiz
[heavy angst, say it with me. WE. LOVE. ANGST.]
Faudi loves his life. He's thriving on his shining career, millions over millions, album after successful album. He was the beloved producer, if not known by his talent and creative view. The fame wasn't just for looks, but for his writing spreading love, kindness and humanity like a falling wisterias in his songs, it comes down naturally.
After all, he is the poet. Drowning in his beautiful auroras and sad prose. No one does it like he did. And no one sees his changes of aesthetics, not a single soul could-not even after he had lost his muse.