There’s this thing that happens when you love someone past the point of reason. You stop needing them to do anything specific, stop needing the text back or the Friday night or even the conversation. You just need them to be alive out there somewhere breathing the same air and existing on the same planet. I felt that way once about someone I probably shouldn’t have loved the way I did, and I remember standing in a grocery store thinking the fact that this person is walking around right now makes this entire Tuesday better. The produce section felt different. The world was more interesting because he was in it. That feeling is terrifying when you first clock it because it’s so much bigger than attraction or even love in the conventional sense. Cosmic, stupid gratitude that the universe bothered to put this particular person in it at the same time as you. ‘Existing,’ the new duet from Chloé Caroline and Jordan Anthony, is that feeling turned into a song, and it’s fucking beautiful.
The origin story is almost as good as the track itself. Chloé was in Los Angeles and Jordan was in Australia. They were on a Zoom call and Chloé dropped a line her partner had said to her out loud: “I love living in a world where you’re existing.” Jordan started building a piano foundation on the spot and the song wrote itself in real time. That kind of creative alchemy makes you believe some songs are supposed to exist. Producer Mikeldi Murguia later translated that raw demo into the finished track in LA, with violinist Vito Gutilla adding an organic lift that makes the whole thing feel weightless. Dropped on Head Bitch Music because Chloé is, in fact, that girl.
Advertisement
For the uninitiated take a seat at the cool kids’ table. Chloé is the kind of girl you meet once and think about for weeks. Born and raised on California’s Golden Coast this American-Canadian indie pop artist has been writing songs since she was six years old which means she’s had longer to get good at this than most of us have had to figure out how to get our eyeliner right. At eleven a life-threatening illness left her isolated and she taught herself guitar on YouTube, turning songwriting into a lifeline with one mission – to make sure nobody feels alone. That experience lives in every single note she writes. Her sound is what you’d get if Phoebe Bridgers, Sabrina Carpenter, and Stevie Nicks got together in a Laurel Canyon living room and decided to make something that felt like golden hour forever with a little Nelly Furtado early-2000s electricity running underneath it all. She calls it a “New Southern California sound” and honestly that’s the most accurate fucking description we’ve heard. Nostalgic and completely fresh, it’s cinematic in the way that makes you feel like you’re the main character of something beautiful and toe-curlingly sexy.
Jordan is the Australian pop boy who showed up at 14 and refused to leave. He became the youngest finalist in The Voice Australia history, made it to the Top 4 with Delta Goodrem in his corner, then turned around and represented his entire fucking country at Junior Eurovision with his original song ‘We Will Rise’ like it was nothing. When American Idol came calling in 2024 he made the Top 14 and packed his bags for Los Angeles because that’s what you do when the universe keeps handing you green flags. He was born in Perth and began writing songs at seven years old to process getting bullied at school. This kid built his whole emotional intelligence into a music career and now he’s out here making “ballads that move” with Grammy-nominated producers in LA sessions. His sound pulls from the emotional precision of Ed Sheeran, Adele, Sam Smith, and Tate McRae, sitting right at the intersection of soul and arena pop. Reality TV was just the audition. The real show has been going the whole damn time.
The song opens in the back of a car, a specific charged moment of first seeing someone clearly, really seeing them, and then the apology that follows: “Like a flash in the dark in the back of your car / Remember the moment I saw who you are / And I thought / Sorry it’s taken me so long.” That last line does more work than a whole verse could. Sorry it took me so long to find you. Sorry it took me so long to see you. Over a piano that sounds like it’s still working itself out, it’s delivered with so much quiet weight. Then the song moves into something even more disorienting, memories scattering, that feeling of recognition that goes deeper than the present moment, a sense that you’ve loved this person before somewhere, that you already know exactly where you belong. And before the chorus even arrives, there’s this admission of used to be scared of falling apart, of needing another person’s gravity to keep from drifting into the dark, of being the kind of person who would follow someone through the stars. That vulnerability is what makes everything that comes after feel earned.
Then the chorus sets you on your ass: “Cause there’s no point in / Living in a world you’re not existing / Now that I got you / It’s better as us two / Like oxygen / You’re giving me the life that I’ve been missing / I love living in a world / Where you’re existing.” That is the whole thesis. People feel this constantly and almost never say it out loud. Thanking the universe that this specific person exists at all. Delivered over a sweeping cinematic build with strings underneath it, that chorus is the shit that stays with you.
Advertisement
The second verse is where the song gets intimately domestic and somehow even more affecting for it. “7th of May and the season’s changed / Your cold cup of coffee sits in our sink / And I see you’re wearing my favorite t-shirt again.” A specific date. A cold cup of coffee. A stolen t-shirt. Those tiny details you only notice when someone has become part of your daily atmosphere. And it keeps going from there into running late, rent not paid, none of it mattering because of the way they look at you. That look. The whole verse is about wanting to lock every single one of those ordinary moments away and hold them somewhere safe forever. There is something deeply and quietly sexy about a love that makes the mundane feel sacred.
And then the bridge – “There’s no running out of time / This love will last when we’re not alive / But while I got you my side / Hope you’re the last face I see the day that I die.” Put your goddamn phone down. A person saying if I get to choose I want it to be you. The whole song has been building to that line and when it lands it earns every single second that came before it.
I eventually stopped going to that grocery store. The parking lot was genuinely traumatic. He was fine. But I still get that feeling sometimes in completely ordinary places, a parking lot on a Tuesday, a coffee line that’s taking too long, somewhere totally unremarkable. That quiet hit of gratitude that a specific person is alive somewhere, existing in the same world as me. Chloé and Jordan put that feeling somewhere permanent now. ‘Existing’ is the kind of song that makes you want to send a text to someone at a completely irresponsible hour just to say I’m so fucking glad you’re here. Do it. Feel it.
