On Dearest, Simone Seales turns the debris of first love into something tender and tactile: part classical composition, part spoken word, part jarring improvisation. These are soundscapes rather than songs, each one invoking a chapter of their first queer relationship. Dearest is less about what happened, more about what still lingers.

Born in Florida and now based in Glasgow, Seales is an intersectional cellist, performance artist, educator and improviser whose work is rooted in black queer feminism and the politics of emotion. Dearest grew from a reflective poem they wrote two years ago and takes its track titles from the fictional letters in Carol, a cult 1950s lesbian love story that became a touchstone during the aftermath of Seales’ first queer relationship.

The album opens in innocence: warm sunrises, play, soft light. The early mornings of romance. Mele Broomes delivers Seales’ words carefully, her voice floating deliberately, unhurried and at peace. The poetry describes shared moments and small actions, while the cello threatens to drown them out: feelings enveloping and distorting the memories. Sometimes it’s hard to make out the words but it feels intentional. On the title track, there are moments where the cello sounds distinctively dour: long arching bows reflecting distance, weathering and solitude. The west coast of Scotland seems to have seeped into the bones of this song.

Then ‘There Are No Accidents’ shifts the ground; the light dims, the cello grows restless. ‘You disappeared / I let go,’ Broomes speaks with quiet force, the anger sitting deep in her clipped consonants. A coldness sets in as we reach ‘You Seek Resolutions’. It’s jaunty, taunting; the folky cello moves quickly, mean-spirited and hurt. The language remains simple but weighted, full of unflinchingly personal half-thoughts: it’s a bit like revisiting the poetry hidden deep in your Notes app. Dearest could soundtrack all sorts of break-ups and breakdowns, yet somehow it stays light, reflecting experiences of queer heartache at it’s silliest, pettiest and most tender.

Dearest is self-released on Friday 21 November.