I wrote Sanctuary during a period where things in my life felt lighter than they had in a while... not perfect, not dramatic, just softer. I wasn’t fighting anything. I wasn’t trying to prove anything. I was beginning to understand that feeling good didn’t have to be earned through struggle.
At that time, I was learning what it meant to feel safe in my own body, and with someone else. To let closeness be calming instead of complicated. The song came from that shift... from bracing to relaxing, from holding tension to letting it dissolve. The imagery of warmth, water, skin, and breath wasn’t escapism. It was presence. A reminder that pleasure can be grounding, not distracting.
Looking back, Sanctuary feels like a quiet milestone. Not a breakthrough, not a turning point... more like a deep exhale between chapters. The moment I realised peace doesn’t always arrive loudly. Sometimes it sounds like a groove, a voice close to your ear, and the feeling of not needing to be anywhere else.