Some days feel like scattered mirrors—each one reflecting a part of who I was, who I am, and who I’m becoming.

This past week, I’ve felt strangely fragmented. I’ve been drifting through late-night walks with no destination, letting city lights blur into something dreamlike. There’s a peculiar silence that follows me lately—not empty, but watchful. And in that silence, thoughts become louder, sharper. Some memories come back uninvited. Others, I chase down like half-remembered melodies.

When people imagine an artist’s life, they often picture inspiration arriving like a lightning bolt—sudden, electric, and full of clarity. But the truth? It’s messier. Most days, inspiration is a whisper barely louder than doubt. And yet, those whispers are everything.

I’ve started revisiting old notes and half-written lyrics—pages crumpled, lines crossed out, phrases scribbled in margins. At the time, they felt incomplete. But now? There’s something powerful in their rawness. Some of those forgotten fragments have found their place in new songs I’m building. Like broken pieces finally clicking into a shape I didn’t know I was creating.

One line keeps echoing in my head: “I don’t need to be whole to be real.” I wrote that on a bad day months ago, and reading it now feels like a quiet revolution. I think that’s what this chapter is teaching me—that we’re all made of pieces, and maybe we’re not meant to be seamless.

Music, for me, has always been a mirror. But lately, it’s become a kaleidoscope. The sounds I’m drawn to now feel more textured—more ambient, a bit darker, slower in tempo, but somehow more honest. I’ve been experimenting with layering dissonant synths over soft, broken piano loops. It feels like soundtracking the space between clarity and confusion. It feels like me.

And through all this, I’m realizing that imperfection is not a flaw in the process—it’s the process. The cracks are where the feeling gets in. The dissonance is what makes the harmony matter.

So if you’re also feeling scattered, uncertain, a bit undone—welcome. There’s beauty here. Let’s not rush to fix it. Let’s sit in it. Let it breathe. Let it create.

Until next time,
B.

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