chr0nicallyst0ned
On tour, time doesn't move the way it's supposed to - but at first, that feels like freedom.
When Lyra Everylyn leaves Toronto to join her band on a cross-border summer tour, everything feels new and electric. Early mornings come with foggy beaches and hot coffee, nights stretch long past venue curfews, and the bus hums with the quiet thrill of finally going somewhere. The world feels bigger. Possibility feels close enough to touch.
Surrounded by her bandmates - equal parts family and friction - Lyra moves through the tour with open eyes, collecting the small, perfect moments: unfamiliar cities, shared laughter, music played too loud. Meals blur and pass unnoticed, days are shaped by movement instead of routine, and hunger feels easier to ignore when there's always somewhere else to be. Even so, part of her stays quietly tethered to home - to late-night messages, familiar routines, and Miles, steady and grounding, back in Toronto, whose life has always been on wheels - not by choice, not by novelty, but as a fact she's known since they were kids.
And then there's Daniel - magnetic, reckless, impossible to ignore - offering a connection that feels weightless, immediate, alive.
As the tour stretches on, the glow begins to thin. Lyra is forced to notice the quiet costs of momentum - the way her body keeps score even when her mind refuses to, the comfort she finds in control, and the difference between being wanted and being safe. Some moments feel infinite. Others slip through her fingers. And beneath it all is the realization that becoming someone new doesn't always feel like growth - sometimes it feels like disappearance.
This is an intimate story about music, movement, and the spaces between people - about desire and restraint, about chasing intensity, and about learning when excitement turns into something that asks for more than you can.