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It started in a graveyard in London

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He's pretty nuts, never been one to follow a straight line, there's no denying it. He's accepted it and so have most of the people around him, everyone knows that his off the wall style is just part of the package.

She was the only one who saw what went down next, the only one who understood, or at least tried to, because everyone else would've just stood there clueless, too caught up in their own shit to notice how wrecked he was. His heart wasn't just broken that night, it was obliterated, smashed to pieces so tiny they felt impossible to put back together and maybe that's why he ended up there, in the middle of the graveyard, guitar in hand, playing a song that didn't even fully exist yet, something raw and unfinished, just like him.

The usual jitters and sweaty palms gave way to a fierce determination, a kind of no bullshit, do-or-die attitude that's as American as New York cheesecake. The graveyard wasn't just a backdrop, it was a stage set by fate itself, where the weight of mortality and the promise of new beginnings collided.

This song hits him like a ton of bricks every time he hears it. It drags him back to that night, to the weight of everything he was carrying, to the way she sat there and listened like nothing else in the world mattered. It reminds him of what it felt like to be completely lost and to hand that brokenness over to someone else. To say, "Here I am. Take it."

Now, weeks later, he found himself in a room full of polished instruments and engineers who could make anything sound pristine. The walls are lined with soundproofing foam, a stark contrast to the open air and crumbling stone of that night in London. Everything here is controlled, every note captured with precision. And yet, the challenge is not just about getting it right but about not losing what made the song matter in the first place.