Music didn’t save my life.
But it sure as hell kept me alive long enough to figure out how to save it myself.

It’s like drowning, but slower.

You wear a suit but you feel naked.

You try to write something worth reading aloud but every word feels like a betrayal.

You speak anyway.

You remember the joke.

You know the one.

The one you made together.

It wasn’t a sermon.
It wasn’t a miracle.
It wasn’t even a deathbed conversion.
It was a dream.

I don’t remember what I was wearing.
I don’t remember what I said.

I just remember Pop Concert was that night.
And I had a part in the show.

There’s a myth about strong people—that we’re “built for this.” That we like holding the weight. That we don’t need help. That our silence means peace. That our stability is natural, not practiced. That we’re immune to loneliness because we always know what to say.

Bullshit.

I wasn’t the best son. I missed calls. I ignored texts. I told myself I’d call back and didn’t. I hesitated when I saw his name light up my phone. I told myself I was too busy, too tired, too stressed—and maybe I was. But so was he. So was everyone. And I didn’t show up the way I should’ve.

To have light, you must be forged in darkness.

Let’s be honest.

God clocked out years ago.
If He was ever here.
And if He was—He’s got some explaining to do.

Fight Club said it.
Give up everything.
Even hope.

“You think you’re free, but you scroll like a man begging for permission.”

You don’t wonder anymore.

You Google.

You love hard? You lose hard.

We’ve replaced loyalty with likeness.
Trust with alignment.
Community with content.

What sells?
Identity.

Sleep drips morphine into my skull.
The dead unzip garment bags, fasten spines into boots,
organs tucked into sleeves,
blood stitched to collars.

That gap gets smaller when I speak from the heart.
When I stop bullshitting myself.
When I hit “publish” without asking if it’s going to land.

We don’t digest anything.

We react.

I kiss my dog in the morning.
One less time.
I watch my wife sleep.
One less time.

I am watching everyone I love slide slowly toward the inevitable,
and I can’t stop it.