You started with a trigger... warning, i immediately appreciated you.. You sang your mother into the room. And for a minute, nobody knew what to do. I’d only just met you, didn't even know your name, then you you came right in and let me feel the weight. not looking for sympathy, not reaching for praise Just a voice carrying,.. ...something and it had nowhere else to go. The whole room leaned toward you. Even silence listened in. And something I had buried started moving underneath. I carried that song home, but it wouldn’t leave me there. It kept pulling at me until my own truth was bare. That’s how an idea grows— it never ends where it began. It moves from one voice into another, and becomes more than either planned. You gave the me your story. I found the nerve to answer mine. Then somebody heard what I had made and felt their own heart come alive. One voice became another, then another joined us too. I don’t know what else to call it— You became my muse. The song I wrote was different. It didnt hit like yours But your honesty was in it, like a it ran though me And when I let the others hear it, I watched their faces change. Somebody found an old wound. Somebody gave it a name. Then they went away creating, turning feeling into sound. What began between two strangers started travelling around. Maybe inspiration isn’t digging in the clouds Maybe it’s one person being honest when honesty is tough. That’s how an idea grows— it never ends where it began. It moves from one voice into another, and becomes more than either planned. You gave the me your story. I found the nerve to answer mine. Then somebody heard what I had made and felt their own heart come alive. One voice became another, then another joined us too. I don’t know what else to call it— You became my muse. Not a Not a perfect face. Not someone I need saving, not someone I need to chase. Just the person who reminded me why I ever learned to make— because truth can cross a crowded room and leave more truth awake. That’s how an idea grows— it never ends where it began. It moves from one voice into another, and becomes more than either planned. You sang the thing you carried. I answered with my own. Now everyone is talking and that might never have been true One voice became two and more, but I still remember whose first reached across to me You became my muse. You sang your mother into the room. And look what grew.
